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THE SECRET OF THE 
SAHARA : KUFARA 


ROSITA FORBES 







ROSITA FORBES 









THE SECRET OF THE 
SAHARA : KUFARA 


BY 

ROSITA FORBES 

Author of “Unconducted Wanderers,” etc. 


WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 

SIR HARRY JOHNSTON 


WITH 54 ILLUSTRATIONS 
FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR 
AND A MAP 


NEW 



YORK 


GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 



COPYRIGHT, 1921, 

BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 

HRRSO'ZZ 


§>CI.A659397 


V 




TO 

AHMED MOHAMMED BEY HASSANEIN 

IN MEMORY OF HOURS GRAVE AND GAY, BATTLES 
DESPERATE OR HUMOROUS, OF SUCCESS 
AND FAILURE IN THE LIBYAN 
DESERTS 

\ 









INTRODUCTION 

By Sir Harry Johnston 


THE OASES OF KUFARA 

Very nearly midway between the great mountains of 
Tibesti (which rise to over eleven thousand feet in height); 
the plateaus of Fazan; the mountainous ‘island’ of the 
Cyrenaica; the oases of Western Egypt, and of Dongola; 
lies the still mysterious region of Kufara, visited and 
described by Mrs. Rosita Forbes, the author of this book. 

She has been seemingly the second explorer of Euro¬ 
pean birth to accomplish this feat; for although the Kufara 
district was first placed on the map with no great in¬ 
correctness of location by Friedrich Gerhard Rohlfs, after 
his journey thither in 1878-9, he was—as Mrs. Forbes 
shows—the only European of his party to reach these 
oases, and his stay there was very short. 

Apparently he only revealed, only realised by sight 
or information the salt lakes at Buseima and a rather 
problematical ‘Erbelma’ ( qy . Erbayana, Erbelna?) to 
the south-west; and either he did not see, or he did not 
record the more important sheets of salt or brackish water 
in the comparatively large Kebabo oasis or collection of 
oases. 

These lakes of Kebabo stand at an average elevation 
of about fourteen hundred feet above sea level, an eleva¬ 
tion which was divined or calculated hurriedly by F. G. 
Rohlfs, but more accurately determined by Mrs. Forbes 
and her Egyptian fellow-traveller, Hassanein Bey. By 
these later figures the altitude above sea level of the 
Kebabo Oases may prove to be slightly lower than in the 
vii 


INTRODUCTION 


viii 

estimation of the older maps (1614 feet). Still it can¬ 
not be much less on the lake levels than fourteen hundred 
feet; therefore in considering the problems it is not pos¬ 
sible to attribute the Kebabo oases, the villages of Kufara 
to anything more than the site of a largish lake in pre¬ 
historic times which sent its waters flowing west into the 
great Wadi al Fardi, the course of which seems to have 
passed through Taiserbo to Jaghabub and thence past the 
oasis of Siwa into the Nile near Cairo. 

The Libyan Desert through which Mrs. Forbes 
travelled, starting from Cyrenaica and returning to 
Egypt, is classed by her and by most other persons with 
the Sahara; which properly speaking lies to the west of 
a long chain of peaks, ridges, and tablelands grouped in 
its central section under the name of ‘Tibesti’, the moun¬ 
tainous country of the Tu, Teda, or Tibu (Tebu or Tubu) 
peoples. But it would almost seem for reason of its 
past mammalian fauna as though we must distinguish 
between the Sahara and the Libyan Deserts, just as for 
similar reasons we do not extend the name of ‘Sahara’ to 
cover the sandy and stony wastes of Arabia. The true 
Libyan Desert—almost a more awful region of desola¬ 
tion than the Sahara west of the Tibesti mountains— 
would seem in ancient human times, fifty thousand, a 
hundred thousand, two hundred thousand years ago, to 
have been the western area of the Nile basin. Its mighty 
rivers, their courses still traceable, fed by the almost 
Alpine range of Tibesti, by the vanished rain from the 
plateaus and ridges of Wanyanga and Darfur, flowed 
towards the Nile between its nascent delta and Kordofan. 
Its mammalian fauna and to a lesser degree its flora dif¬ 
fered in some important particulars from that of the 
Sahara (then possibly much covered by shallow lakes and 
inland seas); and still more from the beasts and trees of 
true West Africa or Central Africa. The White 


INTRODUCTION 


ix 


Rhinoceros or a nearly allied form of it has left fossil 
remains in Algeria and is still found within the equatorial 
Nile basin. It has penetrated south along the eastern 
side of Central Africa, but it does not appear to have 
passed into the Congo basin or to have reached the regions 
south of Algeria or west of Tibesti and Darfur. The 
‘Black’ Rhinoceros with the pointed lip has pushed west¬ 
ward to the lands round Lake Chad and into the basin of 
the Shari, but seems never to have travelled as far west¬ 
ward as the Niger or ever to have been found in true 
West Africa. No zebra or wild ass, so far as we know, 
ever left Algeria or the Nile basin to enter the Chad or 
Congo regions. Many antelopes have in the near past 
and present ranged between Mediterranean Algeria on 
the north-west, the equatorial Nile basin, and southern 
most Africa, but have not appeared in the western half 
of Africa. 

The region therefore into which plunged the author 
of this book, with the concurrence and assistance of an 
educated Egyptian of A1 Azhar University, has been of 
great interest to all students of Africa. Rohlfs’s visit had 
almost become legendary and at best its reports were frag¬ 
mentary and inconclusive. The Kufara oasis was the 
half-way house between the mysterious and recalcitrant 
Negro kingdom of Wadai and the Mediterranean coast. 
Wadai was the last of the great Negro States of Central 
Africa to come under European supervision and control. 
But even after Wadai—to the great benefit of North 
Central Africa—was conquered by the French, and its 
slave trade abolished, the oasis of Kufara remained for a 
few more years a legendary district, perhaps mainly 
created by the excited imagination of a thwarted German 
explorer, who had already crossed Africa from the Medi¬ 
terranean to the Benue and the Niger, hut who had 
scarcely penetrated to this secret land of water and palm 


x INTRODUCTION 

trees in the centre of the Libyan Desert than he had to 
leave it. 

We now realise from the work of Mr. Harding King 
in 1913 and from Mrs. Forbes’s book, with its admirable 
photographs and both vivid and circumstantial descrip¬ 
tions, what this series of oases, salt lakes, and underground 
fountains means in the middle of the Libyan Desert. It 
is one of the vestiges of a formerly well-watered country 
ten, twenty or more thousand years ago. It was a more 
habitable region possibly at a distance in time not ex¬ 
ceeding five thousand years. To it came, long ago, when 
the intervening desert was much more traversable, clans 
of the Tu, Tebu or Tibu people, nowadays the dominating 
population of Fazan and Tibesti. A few Tebu—one or 
two hundred—still linger in Kufara on sufferance, the 
semi-slaves of the Zwiya Arabs. The author is able to 
give her readers an admirable photograph of one of these 
lingering Tebu of Kufara. 

Who and what are the variously named Tu, Teda, 
Tibu, or Tebu tribes? They are seemingly of consider¬ 
able antiquity, the Garamantes of Herodotos and the 
Romans, the Tedamansii of Claudius Ptolomams, the 
Alexandrian geographer of the second century. They 
represent one of the numerous races between the White 
man and the Negro, but in their purer and more northern 
extension they are a people with a preponderance of white 
man stock. The skin is dark-tinted and the hair has a 
kink, a curl about it; but the physiognomy is that of the 
Mediterranean peoples, except for the occasionally tumid 
lips. They do not indeed differ very much in appear¬ 
ance, facially, from the Hamitic peoples of North-east 
Africa; but their language is utterly dissimilar. With 
this and that corruption, change, and deficiency, it has 
become the speech of Bornu (Kanuri), Kanem, Ennedi, 
northern Darfur, Tibesti, Tummo, and southern Fazan. 


INTRODUCTION 


xi 


Commerce even carries its dialects into Tripoli. But this 
Tibu-Kanuri group of tongues has no discernible connec¬ 
tion with any other African group and is utterly dissimilar 
in syntax and in word-roots from the sex-denoting Hami- 
tic, Libyan, Egyptian and Semitic languages of North 
and North-east Africa. Neither does it offer any point 
of resemblance with the Nubian group, with the Niger 
families, with Songhai or Fulfulde. It is rather hurriedly 
called a ‘Negro’ tongue, which explains nothing. There 
seem to have been many pre-Aryan, pre-Semitic, pre- 
Hamitic forms of speech generated by the White man 
in Europe, North Africa and Western Asia, which, like 
the original language-impulse of the Bantu and Semi- 
Bantu, were introduced into Tropical Africa and sub¬ 
sequently adopted by the Negro, who was at all times so 
easily influenced by the White invader. The Tibu speech 
seems to have been one of the several distinct groups of 
tongues (Fula may have been another) spoken in North 
Africa before that region was invaded from the east by 
the Hamites and from the North-west by the Libyans. 
It was pushed southwards into Fazan and thence ex¬ 
tended across the Libyan Desert to the oases of Kufara. 

But though ranking themselves as ‘white men’ or at 
any rate as a racial type much above the Negro, the Tibu 
were not quickly on the White man’s side in religion. The 
ancient Garamantes became Christian only a short time 
before the Moslem invasion of Tripoli; and were possibly 
not Islamized until the eleventh century. Probably the 
Tebu of Kufara were of some vaguely Pagan faith when 
their oases were invaded by the Zwiya Arabs of Fazan 
two or three hundred years ago. As they only had spears 
and arrows to defend themselves against the invaders who 
were armed with guns, they were soon conquered, semi- 
enslaved, and coerced to adopt the Muslim faith. They 
seem to have possessed camels of what is known as the 


Xll 


INTRODUCTION 


Teda or Tibesti breed, taller, stouter, clumsier in form 
than the dromedaries of the north. 

On this point hinges a good deal of interesting argu¬ 
ment. Was there a native camel, a wild species of the 
genus Camelus in North-east Africa before the domesti¬ 
cated camel was introduced from Arabia and Palestine 
into Africa at an uncertain period coincident with the 
downfall of the independence and glory of Ancient Egypt 
—say three thousand years ago? A wild camel, very near 
in form to the Arabian species, is found fossil and sub¬ 
fossil in Algeria. It must have lingered there till the 
arrival of Man who possibly aided in its extinction. Were 
there wild camels similarly lingering in the Teda, the 
Tibesti country and in Somaliland and Galaland down to 
quite recent times? And have they contributed to the 
formation of the domesticated camel stock of Africa? 

The Zwiya conquerors of Kufara opened up relations 
with the Sudan, with Ennedi, Wadai, and Darfur; and 
on the north with Cyrene and its Mediterranean ports. 
Their oases obtained wealth and importance by becoming 
a halfway-house between Eastern Europe and Central 
Africa, and grew rich during the eighteenth and nineteenth 
centuries over the trade in ivory and Negro slaves. The 
importance of the Wadai-Kufara road for camel caravans 
increased greatly during the second half of the last cen¬ 
tury because, meantime, Algeria and Tunis had become 
more or less controlled by Europe. Egypt was likewise 
supervised, constantly watched by European powers in 
regard to the Slave trade. Even Tripoli and its sea-faring 
trade in slaves was hampered by surveillance from Malta. 

Turkey, however, was left pretty much to herself after 
the Berlin Conference of 1878, for motives of interna¬ 
tional jealousy. She strengthened her hold over Cyrene 
and likewise garrisoned Crete, not far away. So that 
long after the Sudan slave trade had been closed in all 


INTRODUCTION 


xiii 

other directions by British and French action it remained 
alive and active by way of Wadai-Kufara-and-Benghazi, 
till, in 1912-1913, Italy took Tripoli and Cyrenaica from 
the Turks and resumed the former protectorate of the 
Roman Empire in this direction. 

Then—as Mrs. Forbes relates—the followers of the 
Senusi Brotherhood found themselves in lively conflict 
with a modern-tempered European power, and had— 
eventually—to come to terms with Italy. 

Mrs. Forbes tells us or reminds us of the main facts 
and changes in Kufara history: its occupation at an un¬ 
known and probably distant date by the Tibu people, who 
may have dwelt there when the surrounding deserts were 
much less arid, and when the oases and their lakes were 
considerably larger. They may have been there while 
the Pharaohs reigned in Egypt and before the domestica¬ 
tion of the camel. Then she alludes to the conquest and 
occupation of Kufara by the Zwiya Arabs, who seem to 
have come from the eastern part of Fazan, especially an 
oasis named Leshkerre. Before their coming the Tibu 
inhabitants seem to have called ‘Kufara’ (which in Arabic 
means, ‘unbelievers’, ‘heathen’) by the name of Tazerr; 
and in a valuable Appendix the author relates the subse¬ 
quent history of these oases when they came under the 
influence of the Senusi dynasty. 

The statements in this Appendix may be in all points 
accurate, but it might be interesting to the reader to give 
an alternative version derived from earlier French and 
British writers. Some of this information was noted 
when the present writer was Consul General in Tunis, and 
had commenced studying the results and aims of the teach¬ 
ing emanating from the Senusi confraternity, his atten¬ 
tion having been drawn to this movement in Muhamma¬ 
danism as far back as the ’eighties of the last century, by 
the influence of the Senusi missionaries on Nigeria. 


XIV 


INTRODUCTION 


The first Senusi teacher was born at or near Mastagh- 
anem on the coast of western Algeria towards the close 
of the eighteenth century. He was styled—for short, as 
he had a wearisome array of names—Muhammad bin Ali 
bin as-Sanusi. [Because there is no e in the Arabic lan¬ 
guage you will find a world-wide conspiracy to use that 
vowel in the transliteration of Arab names. There is like¬ 
wise no o, so that o is thrust into or before Arab names 
of persons, countries, and mountains in their European 
rendering with an unaccountable vehemence of con¬ 
trariety] . 

Like so many Arabs and Berbers in the history of 
North Africa he was a religious enthusiast, and like all 
such in every faith he was willing to die or to doom to 
death in defence of his improvable religious dogmas. He 
resorted to Fez for his theological studies and worked at 
the so-called university in that Moroccan city till he was 
past his thirtieth year. He then felt inspired to preach 
reform in Islam, and to that end set his face westward, 
expounding his tenets first in Algeria (about to be dis¬ 
tracted by the French entry), then in southern Tunis and 
Tripoli. At last he reached Egypt and enrolled himself 
as a student at the great Muhammadan university of A1 
Azhar in Cairo. But his tenets, when he expounded them, 
were pronounced to be heretical, so he journeyed on to 
Mecca, seeking further instruction. 

At this religious capital of Islam he met among other 
pilgrims and enquirers a remarkable personality, Mu¬ 
hammad ash-Sharif, a Negro prince from Wadai who in 
1838 became supreme monarch or Sultan of that remark¬ 
able country in the heart of Africa. A great friendship 
grew up between the white-skinned Berber (for though 
claiming to belong to an Arab tribe, the first of the Senusi 
leaders was obviously of Berber stock) and the black 
skinned Wadai prince, which affected for seventy years 


INTRODUCTION 


xv 

or more the relations between the Senusi sect and the 
central Sudan. But after the departure of the Wadai 
prince the relations between Muhammad bin Ali bin as- 
Sanusi and the authorities of Mecca became more and 
more difficult; and though the Senusi leader founded 
monasteries in western Arabia he thought it better to 
leave that land of orthodoxy and return to Africa. 

He settled first—about 1844—near Derna in Cyre- 
naica.* This region, once in far-back, pre-historic times 
a huge island, had, together with Morocco, become the 
only portions of North Africa where Islamic develop¬ 
ments were unfettered. Yet even here, in the next 
decade Turkish enquiries (after the anxiety of the 
Crimean War was over) irked the first Senusi; so that in 
1855 he moved from the vicinity of Derna to Jaghabub, 
an oasis on the undefined borderland between Egypt and 
the Tripolitan Pashalik. Hither he brought his two sons, 
bom in 1843 and 1845. They were named Muhammad 
ash-Sharif and Muhammad al Mahdi, and according to 
most authorities Muhammad ash-Sharif was the elder. 
Mrs. Forbes, no doubt on good authority, reverses this 
order and puts forward the Second Senusi—Muhammad 
al Mahdi—as the elder and all along the rightful heir. 

The story related to me and preserved in several books 
is that one day at Jaghabub, not long before his death in 
1859, the First Senusi put his young sons to the following 
test of faith. He pointed out a tall palm tree near the 
mosque and ordered them to climb up it and then, putting 
their faith in God, to leap off it to the ground. Muhammad 
ash-Sharif shrank from the test; his younger brother had 
faith, climbed up the tree to near the fronds, and then 
dropped to the ground and was not hurt. Him, there¬ 
fore, his father designated as his eventual successor. 

Whether or not this was a true story and whether or 

* He is said to have paid another visit to Mecca in 1852. 


XVI 


INTRODUCTION 


no the Second Senusi was the younger son of the First, 
he succeeded to his father’s position, after a short interval 
of ‘regency’ conducted by trusty councillors; though there 
seems to have been no ill-feeling between the brothers. 
Under Muhammad al Mahdi, the Second Senusi, the 
political movement took great amplitude. His emissaries 
spread far and wide over Negro and Negroid Africa. 
Houses of teaching and prayer were founded in Senegal, 
in western Nigeria, in Hausaland and above all through¬ 
out the Tibu countries, Wadai and northern Darfur, as 
well as in Fazan, Tunis, and Algeria. A little vague 
hostility was shown towards France, but not more than 
towards Turkish rule, and the feeling among the Senusiya 
was rather in favour of the British. When the other 
Mahdi, Muhammad Ahmad, the Dongolese destroyer of 
the Egyptian Sudan, strove to enter into close relations 
with Muhammad al Mahdi at Jaghabub his overtures were 
snubbed very distinctly. 

Unknown to himself, no doubt, the Berber blood in 
the Senusi leader’s veins ranged him against violent at¬ 
tacks on civilised states. He did his utmost to prevent 
the Arab fanaticism of the Middle Nile from spreading 
to Egypt, or to Wadai and Bornu. His growing in¬ 
fluence over Turkish Africa attracted the interested at¬ 
tention of Abd-al-Hamid, Sultan of Turkey. In 1889, 
the Second Senusi leader was visited at Jaghabub by the 
Pasha of Tripoli escorted by an imposing force. This 
visit and other actions of Abd-al-Hamid caused the Second 
Senusi perturbation. Accordingly in 1894, he transferred 
himself and his funds and band of officials to the Kufara 
oases, whither pursuit by Turkish troops would be very 
difficult. From this safe retreat he intensified his rela¬ 
tions across the Desert with Wadai, Kanem, and Darfur. 
In 1900 the Second Senusi pope (as one might by now 
call him) moved his headquarters from Kufara to a rocky 


INTRODUCTION 


XVII 


stronghold named Geru, in the district of Dar Gorani in 
western Wadai. He did this partly in furtherance of an 
unfortunate opposition to the French conquest of these 
perturbed regions in the very heart of Africa. The Senusi 
dynasty was never enlightened enough to perceive the 
wickedness of the Slave Trade, and it resented the efforts 
of the French to put down the shocking slave raiding of 
the Wadai Muhammadans. 

The French armies however were victorious, and the 
Second Senusi died of disappointment in Wadai. 

The Third in succession was the son of his brother, 
Muhammad ash-Sharif and was named Ahmad ash- 
Sharif. He was chosen by the confraternity because the 
sons of Muhammad al Mahdi were deemed to be too 
young for the cares and responsibilities of this Pope-like 
position. Ahmad ash-Sharif re-established his capital at 
Kufara, but in spite of his recognition as supreme head 
of the institution attempts were made by the confraternity 
to ignore the death of the Second Senusi, to announce 
that he was travelling on secret business, that he would 
one day return to resume the supreme power vested mean¬ 
time in his nephew. It is possible this fiction was set about 
by those who were led to distrust the wisdom of Ahmad 
the Third Senusi. 

Ahmad apparently decided that the Brotherhood 
should off er unstinted opposition to the French in Central 
Africa, and that they should ally themselves with the 
Turkish Sultan whom his grandfather had derided and 
opposed as an effete and heretical ruler. Between 1902 
and 1909, Senusis were fighting the French advance on 
Wadai and contiguous countries. In 1910 Turkish troops 
advanced for the first time beyond Fazan into the Tibesti 
mountains and Borku. But in the following year they 
were withdrawn northwards to oppose the Italian invasion 
of Tripoli. Sayyid Ahmad ash-Sharif, the Senusi leader. 


I 

xviii 


INTRODUCTION 


joined Turkey after the outbreak of the Great War in 
1914 and in 1918 had to flee to Constantinople in a sub¬ 
marine, as Mrs. Forbes relates. Thenceforth she becomes 
the sole historian for the time being of the Senusi family, 
and according to her relation we see that Idris, son of 
Muhammad al Mahdi, and grandson of the First Senusi 
teacher has become the fourth ruler of his family and has 
been accorded by Italy and Britain the title of a Prince 
(Amir). His domain is now recognized as covering the 
inner region of Cyrenaica between the Egyptian frontier 
on the east, that of Fazan on the west, of the coast region 
of Cyrene on the north and approximately on the south 
of the 20th degree of N. Latitude. Jedabia as marked on 
Mrs. Forbes’s map is very near the Mediterranean coast, 
and Zuetina, also referred to, is actually a seaport which 
is to be the outlet of a hoped-for Sudan trade coming from 
Wadai. Whether this important outlet is intended to 
come within the Sharifian domain of Sayyid Idris is not 
quite clear: it hardly seems likely that at present Italy 
would allow a quasi-independent Arab power to attain to 
a port on the Mediterranean between the provinces of 
Cyrene and Tripoli. 

Italy of course retains from an international point of 
view the suzerainty over the Senusi Prince, whose access 
to the Mediterranean she could not permit to be abused or 
allow it to shelter a revival of the slave trade, practised 
so long by the Turks, and at no time denounced by the 
followers of the Senusi. 

Somewhat similarly to the action of Italy since the 
conclusion of the War, the British have been striving to 
create an independent or nearly-independent Arab state in 
Mesopotamia; they have evacuated Persia (though it is 
still threatened by the Russian Soviet) and they are en¬ 
deavouring to recreate a wholly independent congeries of 
Arab States in Arabia, especially in the case of the Hijaz, 


INTRODUCTION 


XIX 


the Domain of Muhammad and the region in which he 
was born, lived, and worked. 

What will Islam do for the world of civilisation in 
return? Will it give up, once and for all and completely, 
the age-long attempt to maintain slavery as an institu¬ 
tion, to override and enslave the Negro, to persecute the 
Christian, the Jew, and the harmless pagan? Will it 
cease to despise true Science, and encourage unfettered 
education? For a century or two after the Arab conquests 
of Spain and Mesopotamia, education took great strides, 
and the civilisation of the Old World was really somewhat 
advanced. Then followed a heart-breaking Muhammadan 
reaction, as bad in its effects as Byzantine Christianity. 
Under the Turks, more especially, Islam was made the 
cover for a disastrous check to learning, to investigation, 
to mastery over the planet and its resources. Muham¬ 
madanism became the rallying ground for the enemies of 
Civilisation. Its teaching became and has remained in¬ 
credibly puerile and futile. Compare the curriculum of 
A1 Azhar with that of British, American, French, Ger¬ 
man, Italian, Austrian or Spanish universities! The 
author of this interesting story seems content and hopeful 
as to the progress of Senusi teaching. I, having traced 
the downward course of so many Muhammadan move¬ 
ments, split always on the rock of Education, reserve my 
opinion, and meantime distrust all Islamic agitation. 

H. H. Johnston. 


July 25, 1921 . 








\ 


\ 


I 


































\ 


PREFACE 


I feel this Libyan story needs a few words of explana¬ 
tion, for owing to the peculiar circumstances in which it 
was undertaken it is not the usual consecutive and com¬ 
prehensive book of travel compiled after the return of 
an expedition wherein the traveller is able to review the 
journey as a whole. Reading such works, I have so often 
found myself asking, “And then what happened?” or 
“I wonder what he felt at the moment?” Well, this 
is a very simple account of “what happened next.” In 
no way does it pretend to be a scientific record of 
exploration, for, owing to the ever urgent necessity of 
secrecy and disguise, the use of most instruments was 
an impossibility. 

The spirit of the story changes with the mood and 
the method of its development. It was written in so 
many odd ways at so many odd times—under a scented 
sage-bush in the sunset while the slaves were putting up 
our tent, or huddled inside a flea-bag when the nights 
were very cold. Sometimes, when life was exciting, it 
was scribbled on a camel under the shelter of a barracan! 
Twice, at least, the last chapter according to all human 
calculations was completed in the hope that the tattered 
copy books would somehow find their way back to 
civilization and the fate of the expedition be known up 
till its last moments. It is a daily record of success and 
failure, of a few months in an alien world, showing how 
much of that world’s spirit was absorbed. Because, in 
real life, the big things and the little things are inex¬ 
tricably mixed up together, so in Libya at one moment 


XXII 


PREFACE 


one worried because one’s native boots were full of holes, 
at the next perhaps, one wondered how long one would 
be alive to wear them. This book records the former 
mood as well as the latter, because both at the time were 
equally important. 

Naturally such an impossible, illogical journey leaves 
one indebted to so many people that it is difficult to pick 
out those to whom one owes most. 

I have dedicated the story of our adventures to my 
co-explorer Ahmed Bey Hassanein, for his knowledge of 
the Senussi acquired during his secretaryship to the Talbot 
Mission in 1916 was invaluable to me, and he was the 
loyalest of my allies throughout the expedition. His tact 
and eloquence so often saved the situation when my 
Arabic failed, and we laughed and fought through all our 
difficulties together. 

Long before my Kufara expedition merged from im¬ 
possible dream to probable fact, many officers stationed 
in the Western Desert lent me their knowledge of the 
Senussi oasis, gathered from careful conversations with 
Beduin sheikhs and merchants, while from Khartum, 
El Fasher and Cairo came maps and route reports which 
were most useful. 

I now know that we might have benefited exceedingly 
from Rohlfs’s most careful and valuable writings on the 
subject of his North African travels, but unfortunately 
we only possessed his “Kufra,” which does not attempt 
much description of the oasis he was the first European 
to visit, confining itself chiefly to the relation of the 
story of the destruction of his camp and the break-up of 
the expedition. In a Journal of the African Society the 
great German explorer gives the exact bearing on which 
he marched from Jalo. Had we known this at the time 
we might have arrived at Taiserbo in spite of the error 


PREFACE 


xxiii 

in the extent of vegetation marked on the map.* We 
picked up the traces of Rohlfs’s journey at Buseima, 
where some of the inhabitants remembered him as 
Mustapha Bey. At Hawari several sheikhs told us stories 
about his adventures there and at Buma, but at no point 
could we find any trace of Stecker having visited the 
oases. On the contrary we were categorically assured 
by Sheikhs Mohammed el Madeni, Bu Regea and Sidi 
Omar at Buseima, and by Sheikhs Musa Squaireen, 
Mansur Bu Badr, Musa Gharibeel and Sidi Zarrug at 
Hawari that Rohlfs had no other European with him. 
Stecker was the surveyor of the party, and in view of 
the difference in the position he assigned to Buma and 
that which we believe it to occupy, we made the most 
exhaustive inquiries as to the personnel of the German 
expedition; but while we collected much intimate in¬ 
formation concerning Rohlfs, all evidence offered us 
stated positively that he was not accompanied by Stecker 
at Hawari, Buma, or on his return journey to Buseima. 
On these occasions he was always described as being 
“with his cook, Ali, and a big horse.” 

The gracious reception accorded me by H.E. the 
Governor of Cyrenaica, Senator de Martino, made me 
regretful that I could not stay longer in his admirable 
colony. To him, to General di Vita and the Cavaliere 
Queirolo, head of the Ufficio Politico at Benghazi, I 
owe my delightful journey to Jedabia and a store of 
invaluable information regarding the country to which 
they most kindly facilitated my visit. 

To any reader it will at once be evident that, after 
the generous help of the Italians in Cyrenaica, the whole 

* On the Egyptian survey map (2,000,000 series) 1912, re-issued 1915, the green 
area of Taiserbo vegetation runs across longitude 22° and touches latitude 
26°. It will be seen from the map of our route that we marched across this 
angle without finding Kusebeya or any trace of vegetation. 


XXIV 


PREFACE 


success of the expedition depended on the good will of 
the Emir Mohammed Idris es Senussi and of his brother, 
Sayed Rida. It is absolutely impossible for any European 
to set foot into Libya without the permission of the 
Emir or his wakil. We were welcomed by the Sayeds 
with a hospitality that reminded us of the Arab greeting 
to a guest, “All that is mine is thine.” Whatever we 
asked for was given us, multiplied a hundredfold. Sidi 
Idris and his brother were so prodigal of their generosity, 
so unfailing of their help, that we shall feel eternally their 
debtors. 

Since surprise has been expressed that we should have 
met with any opposition in Libya once we were provided 
with Sidi Idris’s passport, I should like to explain that 
we had no permit from the Emir himself. The letter 
referred to throughout the book was merely a casual, 
personal letter expressing his willingness to receive us. 
We had, however, a passport from Sayed Rida authoriz¬ 
ing the Sitt Khadija, a Moslem working for the good of 
Islam and the Senussi, and A. M. Bey Hassanein to 
visit the country. This document insured us the most 
hospitable welcome from the official classes in spite of 
the plots of the Bazama family and of Abdullah, to which 
plots alone I imagine we owe the adventures of our 
journey. 

Because of the good will of the Sayeds we found many 
friends and allies in their country, notably Mohammed 
Quemish and Yusuf el Hamri, who accompanied us 
through 1,000 miles of desert till, somewhere east of 
Munasib Pass, we fell into the hands of the Frontier 
Districts Administration, and thereby hangs a tale, for 
so few of us in England know for how much she is re¬ 
sponsible abroad! 

Egypt is like a tadpole, her head the Delta, and her 
tail the long curving valley of the Nile. Therefore, of 


PREFACE 


XXV 


all countries, she is the most vulnerable of attack, and 
never could she defend her own borders! Mohammed 
Ali subsidized the sheikhs of the Wilad Ali to police his 
frontiers. Before the War the Egyptian Coastguards 
built their forts along the Mediterranean and Red Sea 
shores and pushed their outposts south into the deserts, 
but during the War a far more efficient force sprang into 
being. Nowadays the Frontier Districts Administration, 
a kingdom within a kingdom, is responsible for the safety 
of “all country not watered by the Nile” between 
the Sudan and the Mediterranean, the Red Sea and 
Cyrenaica. The territory is divided into four Provinces, 
and under a Military Administrator in Cairo, Brigadier- 
General Hunter, C.B., C.M.G., the governors and 
officials combine the complicated duties of protector and 
judge, guide, instructor and friend to the tens of thousand 
Beduin who might at any time prove a thorn in the flesh 
of Egypt. This exceedingly capable organization, or 
such portion of it as officiates in the Western Desert, 
took charge of us before we reached Siwa, and to them, 
especially to Colonel MacDonnell, Governor of the 
Western Desert, and to Colonel Forth, Commandant 
of the Camel Corps, we owe more than it is possible to 
acknowledge in a mere preface. 

In fact, I find myself unconsciously including in a 
long list of indebtedness the fact that, having written 
their names far and wide across the Eastern Sahara, they 
had fortunately for me, temporarily omitted Kufara 
from the itineraries of those swift dashes into the wilder¬ 
ness which habitually add a couple of hundred miles or 
so to the known chart of Africa! 

One name is always connected with theirs, because it 
appears on so many desert routes—that of Dr. Ball, 
F.R.G.S., the Director of the Desert Surveys of Egypt. 
Encouraged by his sympathy and experience, we brought 


xxvi 


PREFACE 


him our rough notes and drawings and from them he 
compiled the map of our journey. I think, therefore, 
that my readers’ gratitude should be nearly as great as 
my own! 

Rosita Forbes. 


Abu Menes , 

March , 1921. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 



Introduction by Sir Harry Johnston . 

• 

• 

• 

vii 

Preface . 

CHAPTER 

I We Enter on the Great Adventure 




• 

xxi 

1 

II 

Plans for the Flight 



• 


• 

21 

III 

The Escape from Jedabia 





• 

39 

IV 

Across the Desert with She-ib 




• 

• 

64 

V 

Triumphant Arrival at Jalo 




• 

• 

88 

VI 

Christmas in the Desert 



• 

• 


112 

VII 

A Faulty Guide on a Waterless Way 



• 

• 

126 

VIII 

The Lake in the Desert 




• 

• 

148 

IX 

Treachery at Hawari 




• 


172 

X 

Feasts in the Holy Place 




• 

• 

185 

XI 

The “Cities” of Kufara . 




• 

• 

203 

XII 

The Flight from Taj 





• 

222 

XIII 

Through the Mountains 





;• 

251 

XIV 

The Elusive Dunes . 




:•» 


270 

XV 

The End of the Journey 



:•] 

:•) 


291 


Map . 



:•! 

• 

• 

310 


Appendixes . 




. • 

• 

311 


Glossary . • 



• 


• 

341 


Index . 

xxvii 



• 


• 

345 


s 









LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


Rosita Forbes. Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

The Emir Idris es Senussi ........ 2 

The Author as a Beduin Skeikh.6 

Ahmed Mohammed Bey Hassanein, my Fellow Explorer . 8 

Sayed Rida es Senussi.10 

The Author at Jedabia.24 

The Author on Camel-Back.* 24 

Beduin Woman at Jedabia ..28 

Nomad Tents near Jedabia.' .32 

Our Soldier Slaves and the Guide Abdullah .... 32 

Well at Jedabia.36 

Somad Encampments round Jedabia.36 

Sayed Rida es Senussi.40 

The Author in Beduin Dress.44 

Unloading on the Second Day from Jedabia .... 48 

Wadi Farig; Camels at the Well.48 

A Halt for the Night.64 

Camp of Mojabra Merchants at Bir Rassam .... 64 

Hassanein Bey and Mojabras Drinking Tea .... 72 

Flocks Watering at Bir Rassam.72 

She-ib’s Caravan on the March between Wadi Farig and 

Aujela.80 

Our Caravan Approaching Aujela.80 

The Mosque at Aujela, where is buried the Clerk of the 

Prophet Mohammed.96 

Desert Well at Jalo.96 

The Author with the Two Slaves—Zeinab and Hauwa . . 112 


xxix 












XXX 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING PAGE 

Our Camp at Buttafal.112 

Caravan on the March between Buttafal and Taiserbo . 128 

The Mountains of Buseima.128 

Caravan in Dune Country near Buseima.144 

The First Meeting between the Faqrun Family and Our 

Party at Buseima.144 

Gardens and Lake at Buseima.160 

The Author on a Camel at Buseima.160 

Zouia Women at Buseima.176 

At Buseima; Teaching the Faqrun Family to use Field 

Glasses.176 

The Four Ekhwan who received us at Taj.192 

Hassanein Bey talking to Ekhwan at Taj while the Author 

Photographed them.192 

The Kaimakaan at Taj.208 

Zawia Tower at Taj.224 

Kufara Wadi, from Taj.224 

Barraking; a Too Sudden Descent.240 

A Lunch in Kufara Valley.240 

A Tebu at Awardel in Kufara.248 

Our Camp at Awardel.256 

Loading at Awardel.256 

Camp at Mehemsa; Yusug, Mohammed and Amar . . . 272 

The Author Asleep on a Camel.272 

Jaghabub.288 

Well in Zawia at Jaghabub.288 

Our Host at Jaghabub.296 

Sidi Idris’s House at Jaghabub.296 

Mosque and Queba of Sidi Ben Ali at Jaghabub . . . 296 

My Lonely Picnic in Kufara Wadi.304 

A Glass of Mint Tea on the Way to Siwa.304 

Documents of Welcome Given at Buseima and Kufara (Taj) 336 














THE SECRET OF THE 
SAHARA : KUFARA 
































THE SECRET OF THE 
SAHARA: KUFARA 


CHAPTER I 

WE ENTER ON THE GREAT ADVENTURE 

T HE great adventure began at Jedabia, 190 kilo¬ 
metres from Benghazi as the crow flies. It is 
only a group of scattered sand houses, with the 
mysterious windowless walls of the East, flung down 
on a wide space of white rock and sand, yet it is the 
home of the great Senussi family. We arrived there on 
November 28, 1920, having come by divers methods 
across the stretch of stony desert which lies to the south¬ 
west of Benghazi, the capital of Cyrenaica. It is an 
almost deserted country of flat reddish sand, sprinkled 
with rocks and tufts of coarse grey grass which provides 
food for rare camel caravans and fuel for the Beduin 
fires. There are no made roads, but rough tracks link 
the scattered Italian forts, manned by companies of 
stalwart Eritreans and irregular Arab levies. To the 
south, the altipiano rises in a faint line of purple cliff 
which catches wonderful reflections in the setting sun. 
Otherwise the vista is intensely monotonous save for 
an occasional encampment of Auwaghir. Unlike the 
solid black “beit esh shar” 1 of the Syrian or Algerian 
nomad, their tents are of the poorest description, made 
of patched sacking of various grey-brown shades; they 
are very low-pitched, so that even in the centre one can¬ 
not stand upright. 

In the dry season, wherever there are wells, may be 

3 A. glossary of Arabic words and phrases used in the book will be found on p. 337. 


2 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


seen congregated flocks of sheep and goats and herds of 
camels numbering many thousands. After rain, how¬ 
ever, so much water lies out on the rocky ground that 
the animals can drink wherever they like, so the country 
presents its most deserted appearance. 

Benghazi is a little white town lying on the very 
edge of the Mediterranean breakers, unprotected by 
harbour or mole. Famine and disease considerably 
reduced its population during the War and the suqs 
are almost deserted. An occasional donkey with scarlet 
tassels and a load of fresh dates passes down the Sidi 
Shabi where European stores and native booths stand 
side by side. A few camels come in from the country 
half buried beneath huge sacks of grain. In the evening 
there is a mustering of bearded merchants at the little 
cafe by the mosque, while contemptuous Askari in scar¬ 
let tarboushes and swinging capes stroll by, smoking 
Italian cigarettes, but the life of the town is confined 
to the European quarter containing the hotel and the 
Government offices. 

The biggest of the white, Oriental-looking buildings 
is Government House, with a double line of great 
Moorish arches decorating its imposing facade. So 
different from the windowless dwellings of Jedabia with 
their discreet high-walled yards, yet it was there that I 
first saw Es Sayed Mohammed Idris bin es Sayed el 
Mahdi es Senussi, the man whose power is felt even 
beyond the boundaries of Libya and Cyrenaica. The 
Italians and the Senussi had ratified a few days before 
the provisional treaty of 1916 and there were great 
festas at Benghazi in honour of the newly made Emir, 
who was spending a few days in the capital on his way 
to Italy to visit the King. 

There had been an official reception and down the 
broad steps moved the black mass of Italian uniforms 





THE EMIR IDRIS ES SENUSSI 























































































THE GREAT ADVENTURE 


3 


splashed with the vivid blue of their gala sashes and the 
glint of their gay-ribboned medals. Foremost came 
the Governor, Senator de Martino, in the green and gold 
uniform of a Knight of Malta, and General Di Vita, 
with his splendid rows of decorations. Between them 
walked a figure which dominated the group and yet gave 
one the impression of being utterly remote from it. 
Robed all in white, in silken kaftan and trailing burnus, 
the rich kufiya flowing beneath a golden agal, with no 
jewel or embroidery to mark his state, Sidi Idris came 
slowly forward leaning on a silver-handled stick. An 
Italian officer murmured in my ear, “Give him a longer 
beard and he would be the pictured Christ!” He was 
right. The ascetic leader of one of the greatest religious 
confraternities in the world had the strange, visionary 
eyes of the prophets of old. His long face had hollows 
under the cheek-bones. The lips were pale and the olive 
skin almost waxen. He looked out, under a broad brow, 
dreamily, far beyond the pageant prepared in his honour, 
to realms even more remote than his own untrodden 
deserts. Thus might the Nazarene have walked among 
the legionaries of Rome! 

The following day I met the Emir at a dinner which 
Omar Pasha gave in his honour. Before the other guests 
arrived we conversed, I in faltering Egyptian Arabic, 
he in the classical language of the Hejaz. In the same 
flowing white robes he sat in a great chair at the head 
of the room and in a long line beside him sat the 
ekhwan who were to accompany him to Italy. They 
were a picturesque sight in their multi-coloured robes of 
ceremony. Prominent among them was the General 
Ali Basha el Abdya, a delightful bearded personage with 
a complete set of gold teeth, which touch of modernity 
contrasted oddly with his crimson kaftan and splendid 
dark burnus bordered with silver. Beside him sat the 


4 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


venerable Sharuf Basha el Ghariam, who had been the 
teacher of Sidi Idris and was now his most trusted 
councillor. His jerd was a sombre brown, and the end 
of it covered his head over a close-fitting white ma-araka, 
but his kaftan, with long embroidered sleeves, was vivid 
rose. Fie had a kindly, serious face and seemed much 
more interested in his surroundings than the others. 

I stumbled over my words of formal greeting, ex¬ 
pressed in the unaccustomed plural, wondering whether 
the man who looked so infinitely remote and uninterested 
would even listen to what I was saying. The brooding 
eyes softened suddenly and a smile that was veritable 
light flashed across his face. If graciousness be the token 
of royalty, then Sidi Idris is crowned by his smile! For 
such a look the Beduin prostrates himself to kiss the 
dust the holy feet have pressed! Thereafter we talked 
of my journey and he blessed me in his frail voice, 
smiling still and saying, “May Allah give you your 
wish!” I tried to tell him of my love of the desert, of 
how I was happiest when, from a narrow camp bed, I 
could look at the triangular patch of starlight beyond the 
flap of my tent. “I, too,” he said, “cannot stay more 
than a month in one place. Then I must move, for I 
love the scent of the desert.” It is true there is a scent 
in the desert, though there may be no flower or tree or 
blade of grass within miles. It is the essence of the 
untrodden, untarnished earth herself! 

We dined gorgeously on lambs roasted whole and 
stuffed with all sorts of good things—rice, raisins and 
almonds—and on strange, sticky sweetmeats that I 
loved and bowls of cinnamon-powdered junket and, 
best of all, the delicious thick Arab coffee, but the Emir 
ate little and spoke less. The Senussi law forbids 
drinking and smoking as also the use of gold for 
personal adornment, so after the -meal glasses of sweet 


THE GREAT ADVENTURE 


5 


tea flavoured with mint leaves were handed round to 
the solemn ekhwan, who took no notice whatever of 
their fellow guests, consisting of the Governor, the 
general, the captain of the light cruiser which was to 
carry the Senussi to Italy, and myself. Omar Pasha 
made me sit beside the Emir, who suddenly turned to 
his venerable followers, “Come and salute this lady,” 
he said, and instantly, with the unquestioning obedience 
of children, they clambered up from their low chairs 
and moved in a body towards me. “Aselamu Aleikum” 
they murmured gravely as they shook my hand without 
raising their eyes, but giving me the Moslem salutation 
to a Moslem! 

Benghazi was en fete those days. There were so many 
ceremonies—a review, a great dinner in the Governor’s 
palace in honour of Italy’s new ally—so I did not see 
Sidi Idris again till the last night of his stay, when there 
was a general reception which brought streams of Arab 
notables as well as Europeans to witness the fireworks 
from the wide verandas of His Excellency’s dwelling. 
I saw the Emir standing aloof from the chattering crowd, 
his ekhwan near him, and wondered what he thought 
of us all. Half the guests were of his own race and 
creed, yet not here was his real kingdom, but among 
the ten thousand Beduin who spring to horse or camel 
at his word, among the hundred thousand pilgrims who 
learn the law from his zawias! We stood together on 
a wind-swept balcony and looked down at a wild dance 
of Abyssinian soldiers. A thousand black figures, each 
bearing a flaring torch, gyrated madly in the moonlight, 
yelling hoarse songs of victory and prowess. The three 
things a man may be justly proud of in Abyssinia are 
killing a lion, an elephant or his enemy! The fantastic 
dance we saw might celebrate one or other of these 
achievements. Gradually whirling into tempestuous 


6 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


circles, the soldiers flung their torches into flaming piles 
in the centre and their chaunt rose stronger on the 
wind. Sayed Idris was pleased: “You will see cere¬ 
monies like this in my country,” he said, “but there 
will be no houses. You will not miss them.” 

The moment the last gun, announcing the Emir’s 
departure for Italy, had been fired, Hassanein Bey and 
I climbed into the car most kindly lent by the Govern¬ 
ment. When he first consented to accompany me to 
the Libyan Desert, where his knowledge of the language, 
religion and customs was invaluable to me, Hassanein 
Bey assured me that he came for a rest cure. Later on 
he assumed so many characters that it was somewhat 
difficult to keep count. He was always the Q.M.G. 
of our little expedition and he used to produce maca¬ 
roons at the most impossible moments from equally 
impossible places! He was a chaperon when elderly 
sheikhs demanded my hand in marriage, a fanatic of 
the most bitter type when it was necessary to impress 
the local mind, my Imam when we prayed in public, a 
child when he lost his only pair of primrose yellow 
slippers, a cook when we stole a bottle of Marsala from 
the last Italian fort and chased a thin hen till, in 
desperation, she laid an egg for our zabaglione! He also 
made the darkest plans for being a villain and murdering 
anyone who interfered with our affairs, and I nervously 
listened to tales of sudden disappearances in the Sahara. 

However, on the day of our departure from Benghazi 
he was distinctly subdued, for, on looking at our piles 
of camp kit and my two very small suit-cases, I had 
suddenly noticed several exceedingly large and heavy 
leather bags. With horror I demanded if they were 
all absolutely necessary to his personal comfort. “Yes, 
really!” he assured me. “They are only actual necessi¬ 
ties. As a matter of fact they are half empty. I 



THE AUTHOR AS A BEDUIN SHEIK 









THE GREAT ADVENTURE 


f 7 

thought they would be useful for putting things in.” 
The words were hardly out of his mouth when one of the 
opulent-looking cases, slipping from the Arab servant’s 
hand, burst open and deposited at my feet a large bottle 
of “Heure bleue” bath salts, several packets of salted 
almonds and a sticky mass of chocolates and marrons 
glaces, together with a pair of patent leather shoes 
and a resplendent Balliol blazer. Words failed me! 
“Necessities!” I stuttered as I marched towards the 
camion to see that the heaviest cases of provisions were 
not put on top of the rather fragile fanatis intended for 
carrying water. 

Ten minutes after leaving Benghazi the white town 
with its slender minarets had disappeared into the sand, 
and our camions crawled like great grey beetles over a 
sunlit waste, with here and there a line of camels black 
against the horizon. It was the season of sowing and 
the tribes were scattered far and wide, planting the barley 
that would suffice for their frugal life next year. Here 
and there, as we went farther inland, a stooping figure, 
in close-wound white jerd, pushed a plough drawn by a 
camel, while a friend guarded his labours, rifle slung 
across his back. Sometimes a rare traveller on gaily 
caparisoned mule, his coarse brown jerd flung over his 
head and hiding the scarlet sederiya beneath, gave us 
grave greeting, “Marhaba!” “Bien venu!” We spent 
a night at Soluk, where the wells had attracted a 
great flock of sheep, black and brown, numbering about 
a thousand. The following day we rode the thirty kilo¬ 
metres to Ghemines on wiry Arab horses with mouths 
like iron beneath the wicked curved bits, and high- 
pommelled saddles mounted on black sheepskins. Three 
irregulars of the Auwaghir band accompanied us, gener¬ 
ally galloping round us in circles by way of showing off 
their horsemanship. 


8 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


A small encampment of some half-dozen tents lay 
beside our path, so we turned in to see if they would 
make us tea. At first they refused because I was a 
Christian. Then a woman in striped red and yellow 
barracan, with a heavy necklace of carved silver, came 
out to inspect us. “It is all right,” she said to the 
others. “She is a nice little thing and she has a Moslem 
with her”—this in appreciation of Hassanein Bey’s 
white brocaded kufiya. They spread a scarlet camel’s 
hair rug for us to sit on, but they were not really con¬ 
vinced of our good faith. My companion began asking 
the men if they had made the pilgrimage to Mecca. 
“Not yet,” £aid the oldest wistfully. “What is written 
is written. If Allah wills it, I shall go.” 

We were rapidly making friends when a fierce-looking 
individual with a hard weather-beaten face and stern 
eyes appeared. He carried tea and sugar, but bargained 
fqr them violently, thinking we were both the scorned 
Nasrani. When we told him we knew Sayed Idris, he 
laughed in our faces. “Our lord Idris is travelling,” 
he said. “Would you like to see a letter from him?” 
I asked. Awe showed on all their faces, and their eyes 
followed Hassanein Bey’s every movement as he pulled 
out the somewhat crumpled envelope from his pocket. 
They read the superscription reverently, and then one by 
one kissed it with passionate earnestness and gravely 
pressed it to their foreheads. They returned it in com¬ 
plete silence. Without a word the atmosphere changed. 
The fanatic looked at us with humble yearning. The 
old man’s eyes were glazed. We knew that we could 
have told these three men to get up and follow us to an 
unknown destination and they would have obeyed with 
unquestioning, ungrudging faith. “Sidi Idris has gone 
to visit the King of Italy,” I said. “He has been made 
an Emir.” They accepted the statement indifferently. 




AHMED MOHAMMED BEY HASSAXEIX, MY FELLOW EXPLORER 






THE GREAT ADVENTURE 


How could a mere king confer honour on the man whom 
Allah himself had distinguished above all others living? 
As we remounted the old man kissed my hand with 
tender eyes, murmuring, “Inshallah ma temut ilia 
Islam,” and we galloped away amidst the wild “Ulla- 
la-een” of the women and children. 

Ghemines to Zuetina meant 120 kilometres in a 
camion over a very bad sandy track, but that night I 
slept in a tent for the first time for six months. There 
was a wonderful starry sky with a full moon, and a 
Senussi sheikh rode into see us on a splendid grey horse 
with a scarlet saddle. The high pommels back and front 
and the wide stirrups were of silver, and the purple- 
tasselled bridle was heavily embossed with the same 
metal. Sayed Mohammed Hilal es Senussi is a cousin 
of Sidi Idris and a brother of the Sayed Ahmed es Sherif 
who fled to Turkey at the end of the War. A kindly, 
cheerful personage, he apparently had cut adrift from 
the stern rules of his order and found charm in a semi- 
European life. His language was so full of rhetorical 
flowers that I found it difficult to understand, but he 
lent me an excellent horse for the journey to Jedabia. 
He also requested me to deliver to his cousin, Sayed 
Rida, a poetic epistle which began, “Oh freshness of 
my eyes, may Allah bless your morning with peace and 

joy.” 

The sand dunes of Zuetina gave way to a flat, colour¬ 
less waste tufted with grey brushwood. As we turned 
our horses’ heads inland tiny jerboas scuttered into their 
holes at our approach, and occasionally a great hawk 
wheeled above our heads. Otherwise there was no sign 
of life save one solitary horseman in white jerd on a 
white horse and a boy sitting on a pile of stones playing 
an odd little tune on a wooden flute. Our grey Arab 
mounts were tired when at last we mounted a low rise 


10 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 

and saw before us a fringe of patched Beduin tents. It 
was the first step on a long journey. Everything was 
uncertain. There were so many difficulties to be sur¬ 
mounted, but we felt that now, at- least, the last trace 
of Europe lay behind us. We breathed more freely. 
We both loved the desert and the dwellers therein, and 
we felt that they must understand and respond to our 
sympathy. I turned to Hassanein Bey as the sandy 
track ran between the blind mud walls that I had seen 
in so many countries. “I feel as if I had left behind 
me the last shred of civilisation. The simplicity of life 
is beginning to impregnate me. I believe that old 
Beduin’s blessing has bewitched me. When we leave 
the desert I shall be a Moslem.” 

We sent to ask if Sayed Rida el Mahdi es Senussi, 
the brother and wakil of Sidi Idris, would receive us 
and we waited for an answer at the edge of the suq, 
where grave, bearded men, with the wistful eyes of those 
who look at far horizons, stood in white-robed groups. 
A few camels lay beside piles of grain, but otherwise the 
wide open spaces between the square walled-in yards, 
where were Arab houses, were deserted. The banner of 
the Senussi family, a silver crescent and star on a black 
ground, floated over two of the houses and the pro¬ 
testing roar of laden camels came from one of the larger 
enclosures, for Sayed Safi ed Din, cousin of Sidi Idris 
and brother of the banished Ahmed, was travelling to 
the interior the following day with the whole of his family 
and sixty beasts of burden. 

A soldier of the Arab guard brought us news that 
the Sayed would receive us at once and we dismounted 
in one of the windowless yards before the door of a big 
white house. We were ushered into the usual Arab 
reception room with a stiff row of crimson brocaded 
chairs and sofas round the walls and a table covered by 



SAYEI) 


KII)A ES SENUSSI 








































1 


































































































































































































































































































































THE GREAT ADVENTURE 


11 


a beautiful embroidered satin cloth in the centre. Sayed 
Rida came forward to meet us with a reflection of his 
brother’s smile. One liked him at once. One appreciated 
instantly his warm kindliness and hospitality. Sidi Idris 
is a mystic imbued with the aloof dignity of another 
world, but his wakil is young, spontaneous and sym¬ 
pathetic, with a very simple, unaffected manner. He 
offered us immediately a house to live in while we were 
in Jedabia and put at our disposal a cook and two 
other servants. He made me talk Arabic to him and 
corrected my mistakes with his broadest smile. Sweet 
tea, flavoured with mint, appeared in delightful, painted 
glass cups, and I soon felt as if I had known our host 
for years. He was amused and interested in our divers 
journeys. He made plans to show us a falcon hunt. He 
wanted to give us instantly anything from horses to dates. 
In fact, I felt that I was in the presence of a magician 
who could wave his wand and produce the wish of my 
heart! In appearance Sayed Rida is large and impos¬ 
ing with a round, olive face and very dark eyes, soft as 
velvet, which crinkle up humorously as he smiles widely, 
showing strong white teeth. He wore a black jelabia 
under his striped silk jerd, snowy white, and a rolled 
white turban above a red ma-araka. Arab hospitality is 
famous throughout the world, but we left the dignified 
presence of Sayed Rida feeling almost overwhelmed at 
his gracious welcome. 

Our temporary home fascinated me. A solitary door 
pierced the mysterious expanse of yellow wall made of 
sun-dried blocks of sand of all sizes and shapes. One 
.passed through a small roofed court to a wide sunlit 
yard whose high walls ensure the complete privacy of 
an Arab family. Hassanein Bey had a small room at 
one end and I a great high chamber, hung with texts 
from the Koran. We were a kingdom to ourselves, for 


12 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


there was a well just under my window, charcoal in an 
outhouse and a large yard beyond where we could have 
housed camels and horses. As it was, we stored our 
simple outfit in it, for the evening was dry and fine. We 
knew from the beginning that we must travel light and 
that our final success might depend on our capability for 
riding fast and far. We might have to leave all our 
luggage by the way and, disguised as Beduin camel- 
drivers, slip away in the night into the uncharted land 
where none may follow. 

Thus, besides our sacks of rice, tea and sugar—the 
two latter intended for gifts to Beduins who helped us 
on our journey—we had only a single fly tent, eleven feet 
by eight feet, which could be divided into two by means 
of a canvas curtain, a waterproof ground-sheet and a 
couple of beds which rolled into our immensely thick, 
wool-lined sleeping sacks, a small army canteen that was 
so heavy that we had grave doubts as to its eventual fate, 
a canvas washing basin and a shamadan case complete 
with vast supply of candles, for I foresaw burning much 
midnight wax over note-books and maps. We had 
reduced our provisions to the minimum which would 
support human life for four months, such as coffee, tins 
of army rations, slabs of chocolate, tins of cocoa and 
milk already mixed, bully beef, vegetables to avoid 
scurvy, and malted milk tablets, but the daily ration was 
absurdly small, for we trusted to supplement it with dates 
and rice. 

By the light of Hassanein Bey’s electric torch we 
picked our way back over flat white rock and sand to 
Sayed Rida’s house to dine. This time we found our 
host accompanied by Sayed Safi ed Din, “the little 
warrior,” as he is called among the tribes. He is a boy 
with a vivacious, pale face, a charming manner and a 
ready wit. He is intelligent and, far more than the 


THE GREAT ADVENTURE 


13 


others, he is interested in the ways of Europe. “I think 
we should get on well,” he said, “for you are as curious 
about me as I am about you!” 

The memory of that dinner will haunt me for a long 
time, for it consisted of twelve courses, of which eight 
were meat in one form or another. We began eating at 
seven-thirty and at ten-thirty the beautifully scented 
tea with sprigs of mint made its welcome appearance. 
During these three hours we ate soup, chicken, hashed 
mutton, slices of roast mutton, aubergines stuffed with 
sausage meat, fried chops, shoulder of mutton cooked 
in batter, ragout of mutton with vegetables, stuffed 
tomatoes, boiled mutton with marrow, savoury rice and 
sweet omelette. It can be easily imagined that the feast 
left us a little silent and comatose, but not so our host. 
He was literally brimming over with kindness and fore¬ 
thought. I was suffering at the time from a severely 
dislocated foot, which had not been improved by the long 
ride, and I was obliged to hobble in one shoe and a 
swollen native slipper by the aid of a stick. Sayed Rida 
slipped away for a minute in the middle of the meal and 
when we left the house, lo and behold, a horse was waiting 
for me outside the door! His kindliness was as simple 
and natural as his whole bearing. We asked him if 
he travelled much and he replied, “I have not time. I 
have so much work. You know it is just like planting 
a garden. Everything grows and grows till one’s time 
is full!” This from the Emir’s wakil, whose word was 
borne across half the deserts of the world, to Nigeria, to 
the Sudan, to the outposts of Morocco, to the doors 
of the “House of Allah” (Mecca). 

I remember opening my shutters that night to a flood 
of moonlight as clear as the day. A faint myrrh-scented 
breeze, icy cold from the Sahara, came in, and I 
wondered whether it had blown over the unknown oasis 


14 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


we hoped to reach. We had had a long talk that evening 
of past difficulties and future plans. In Italy Kufara 
represents the goal of so many hopes, in Cyrenaica the 
ambition of so many daring young political officers, that 
it is difficult to realise that in England it is an unknown 
name. The sacred place of the Sahara, the far-off oasis, 
six hundred kilometres from Jalo, which in itself is seven 
days’ rapid journey from the outskirts of civilisation, , 
is spoken of with awe and longing in Benghazi. “I 
will tell you a great secret,” said the Italian major who 
had spent a couple of days with Sidi Idris at Jaghabub, 
and had therefore penetrated many hundreds of kilo¬ 
metres farther into the interior than any of his compa¬ 
triots, “Some day I want to go to Kufara. No one has 
ever been there except Rohlfs, forty years ago, and he 
saw nothing—nothing at all!” 

Without going deeply into the story of the Senussi 
confraternity, it may be explained that their founder, 
Sidi Mohammed Ben Ali es Senussi, preached his doctrine 
of a pure and ascetic Islam from Morocco to Mecca, but 
his teachings met with their greatest success in Cyrenaica, 
where the Beduin had almost lapsed from the faith of 
their fathers. Rapidly his zawia spread along the coast, 
and his authority was acknowledged by the Sultan of 
Wadai, who made him responsible for the caravans 
traversing the great deserts of Wadai, the Fezzan and 
Lake Chad. Thus the stern beliefs of the Senussi 
spread with every caravan that went into the interior. 
Mohammed Ben Ali, so holy that he never unveiled his 
face to his disciples, so honoured that his followers 
prostrated themselves to kiss his footprints, died at 
Jaghabub in 1850 and left to his son, Mohammed el 
Mahdi, the leadership of one of the greatest and fiercest 
religious confraternities in the world. Their laws were 
harsh for even smelling of smoke a man might lose his 


THE GREAT ADVENTURE 


15 


right: hand! Their hatred of the infidel was fanatical. 
They ousted the Zouia and Tebu from their ancient 
homes in Kebabo and established impregnably their holy 
of holies in this oasis which nature herself had protected 
by surrounding it with a belt of mighty dunes and two 
hundred and fifty miles of waterless desert. 

Kufara, the Kebabo of old, lies some six hundred 
kilometres south, faintly south-east, of Jalo. It is the 
heart of the Eastern Sahara and the centre of its trade, 
for the only big caravan route from the Sudan and Wadai 
to the north passes through it, yet the journey is so diffi¬ 
cult that none but the strongest caravans can attempt it. 
From the well at Buttafal, a day’s journey south of 
Jalo, seven hard, waterless days bring the traveller to 
Zieghen, where there is a well, but no fodder or oasis. 
After that he must continue another five days, two of 
which are through dunes, before he reach Hawari, the 
outskirts of the Kufara group, sometimes considered by 
the Arabs to be a separate oasis because it is divided 
from the main group by a chain of mountains. This is 
the main route and the easiest. It continues to Wadai. 

To the west of this track lie three other oases. The 
first, Taiserbo, is also seven days’ waterless journey from 
Buttafal and it is rarely approached, for it has neither 
civil, religious nor commercial importance, but its Tebu 
ruins might make it of interest historically. Some 
hundred and fifty kilometres beyond in a south-westerly 
direction is Buseima, which is famous for its dates, for 
which caravans sometimes visit it, and still farther south 
lies Ribiana, to all description a lawless spot from which 
come the marauding bands which make the neighbour¬ 
hood of Buseima exceedingly dangerous. 

Of course, all this information was acquired at a later 
date. When I arrived at Jedabia I knew less than 
nothing of Libyan geography. I did not know that the 


16 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


principal villages in Kufara were Jof, the seat of govern¬ 
ment, and Taj, the holy of holies of the Senussi faith. 
I did not know that mountains and lakes, fields of 
tamarisk and acacia, peaches, grapes and figs were to be 
found in this Garden of Eden lost amid the impenetrable 
sands, between the Dakhla Desert to the east, untraversed 
by Europeans, and to the west the trackless waste 
stretching to Uau Szerir at the edge of Tripolitania, to 
which remote prison some of the unfortunate survivors 
of the Miani column were sent as prisoners. To me, 
Kufara was almost a mirage. It represented the secret 
which the Sahara had rigidly guarded for so long against 
Christian eyes. The tragic story of Rohlfs’ ill-fated 
expedition fired my enthusiasm to reach this centre of 
the world’s most fanatical confraternity, the unknown, 
mysterious country untrod by foot of stranger, be he 
Christian or Moslem. 

Having regard to the amazing difficulties of the 
journey and the almost maniacal hatred with which 
strangers are regarded, it is natural that, with one pos¬ 
sible exception, no European should ever have been able 
to reach the sacred cluster of zawias and morabits at Taj. 
A French prisoner spent some time in Kufara during the 
war; he was sent there from Uau Szerir by order of 
Sayed Ahmed. Over forty years ago a German explorer 
made a very gallant attempt to solve the mystery of 
the far-off oasis. In 1879 the Kaiser Wilhelm I sent 
a scientific expedition to Libya consisting of four men— 
Rohlfs, Stecker, Eckhart and Hubner. It was backed 
by the whole power of Turkey. It carried magnificent 
presents from the Emperor. It was laden with cases of 
silver and gold. Hostages were held at Benghazi, while 
Rohlfs led his party to the southern deserts. He left 
Jalo on July 5 with a hundred camels and a large 
escort of Zouias mounted on horses, including several 


THE GREAT ADVENTURE 17 

sheikhs, the principal of whom was Bu Guettin. He 
accomplished the amazing feat of reaching Taiserbo in 
four and a half days, by riding nearly twenty hours out 
of the twenty-four. In his most interesting book on 
his North African travels, which has unfortunately not 
been translated into English, he suggests that Taiserbo 
may have been the site of the original Tebu sultanate, 
as he saw ruins which might possibly be those of a castle 
or stronghold at Diranjedi. He continued his southern 
course by way of Buseima, till he reached Hawawiri, 
where he was persuaded by a friendly sheikh, Korayim 
Abd Rabu, to camp in an outlying palm grove to avoid 
any friction with the villagers, who refused to allow the 
Nasrani to enter their country. 

The plucky Teuton describes the gathering outside 
his tent and the long discussion as to whether he and 
his companions should be murdered or not. The day 
following, August 14, they were induced by Bu Guettin 
and the treacherous Zouias, who were fanatically opposed 
to the presence of strangers and greedy to share the spoils 
of so rich a caravan, to leave Hawawiri and, skirting 
the oasis, to isolate themselves in Boema, the loneliest 
and most deserted spot in the whole group. Rohlfs ap¬ 
parently agreed to this plan because the neighbourhood 
of any of the main villages was dangerous. He had to 
oppose the combined hatred of the ekhwan and pupils 
of the zawias, religions fanatics^ the villagers who 
jealously guarded the privacy of their country and the 
passing caravans of pilgrims and merchants. After being 
held a prisoner for nearly a month in this lonely camp, 
in daily fear for his life, he was helped to escape by his 
original friend, Korayim, who took him by night, with 
his three companions, to his son-in-law’s camp, somewhere 
in the neighbourhood of Zu,ruk. That very night 
the German’s camp was attacked and looted. Every 


18 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 

single note-book, map, drawing and scientific instrument 
was destroyed, so Rohlfs was unable to attempt much 
description even of his journey up to Hawawiri. 

In the book which he calls “Kufra” he devotes a 
chapter to his perils and battles in that inhospitable oasis, 
but, after his rescue by Korayim, whose son we met at 
Taj, his narrative becomes very disjointed. He was 
moved to another place before being allowed to leave the 
oasis. He himself thinks it was Jof, but from his 
description of the journey this seems impossible. He 
spent another fortnight under the surveillance of Korayim 
—he tells us that he was not allowed to move without 
a guard of twenty rifles—during which he seems to have 
confronted every form of extortion and threat with calm 
and intrepidity. On September 27 he left the oasis with 
Korayim, who took him all the way to Benghazi, where, 
unfortunately, the sheikh died. Consequently there is a 
legend that Rohlfs poisoned him. With experience of 
the greed of our own escort, I came to the conclusion 
that the grateful German probably gave him too much 
of his own cherished stores and the Arab over-ate! 

After this ill-fated expedition no alien presence cast 
a shadow on the sanctity and isolation of Kufara till 
Sayed Ahmed sent his prisoner there. Many attempts 
were made from Siwa to pierce the first barrier of dunes, 
but in vain. The secrets which Rohlfs had so nearly 
solved remained wrapped in the mirage of the great 
deserts and Kufara was still a legend more than a fact. 

The amicable relations at present existing between 
Italy and the Senussi, and the genuine friendship of 
Senator de Martino and Sayed Idris made it easy for 
us to reach Jedabia as the guests of the former’s most 
hospitable Government, but thenceforth it was left us to 
fend for ourselves. We could not take our kindly hosts 
of Benghazi into our confidence, as they would have 


THE GREAT ADVENTURE 


19 


been aghast at the idea of a young woman venturing alone 
into a territory as yet unexplored. The agreement that 
had just been signed with Sidi Idris gave them control 
of the whole of Cyrenaica, thus assuring a future of great 
prosperity to the colony, but it left the great Libyan 
desert from Aujela to Jaghabub, with Kufara still an¬ 
other six hundred kilometres to the south, in the hands of 
Sayed Idris as an independent ruler under Italian 
protection. 

A most humorous complication added immensely to 
our difficulties. Hassanein Rey, having been secretary 
to the Italo-British Mission which arranged the treaty 
of 1916 with the Senussi, was promptly suspected of the 
darkest Pan-Islamic designs. For a week at Benghazi 
we lived in a state of suspense. Intrigue was in the air 
and everyone suspected the motives of everyone else. If 
a camion broke down, we decided that we were not to be 
allowed to reach Jedabia. If Hassanein spoke to a 
Beduin, using the Moslem salutation, the eyes of our 
so-called interpreter would almost pop out of his head 
with interest and dismay. Relays of kindly individuals 
took the utmost interest in our history, plans, ideas and 
belongings. We were “pumped” until we could not think 
of anything more to say; and we, in turn “pumped” 
every hospitable and amiable individual who politely 
and indifferently asked us our destination! At times we 
must have worn such strained and agonised expres¬ 
sions that I wonder we were not suspected of Bolshevism 
at the very least. The most amusing part of the busi¬ 
ness was afforded by the spies who constantly surrounded 
us and who were so thrilled with their own importance 
that I used to have daily fights with Hassanein Bey to 
prevent him playing delightful little comedies to excite 
them still more. 

However, once Jedabia was reached we felt happier. 


20 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 

The open desert lay before us and the lure of the great 
tracks south! Somewhere far beyond the pale mauve 
line of the horizon lay the secret of the Sahara, the oasis 
which had become the goal of every explorer, from the 
enthusiastic coastguard officers who dreamed of forcing a 
trotting ha jin through the sands, to the governments 
whose camions and light-car patrols had failed to pierce 
the waterless drifts. The masked Tuaregs, those lawless 
riders who threaten the lumbering south-bound caravans, 
bring strange tales of a white race, blue-eyed, fair-haired, 
whose women live unveiled with their men. Legend 
has attributed its home to the mysterious oasis whose 
position varies according to the whims of the map-maker. 
“Inshallah” I breathed to the stars and the winds! 




CHAPTER II 


PLANS FOR THE FLIGHT 

I WENT to sleep beside a glassless window opening 
into an empty yard, after wondering whether we 
should be able to buy necessary food in the suq, or 
whether we should have to break into our hoarded 
provisions. I woke to a busy scene and rubbed my eyes 
in amazement. In one corner was a white bell-tent, 
from which came the smoke of a charcoal fire. In 
another was tethered an excellent horse with a European 
saddle. Half a dozen servants appeared occupied in 
preparing an immense meal. I called to Hassanein Bey: 
“Where on earth did you get all this?” 

“17” he replied, bewildered. “I? It is all from 
Sayed Rida. Do you realise that that horse is going to 
stay here for you to ride whenever you like, that the 
tent is a fully equipped kitchen and that you’ve got a 
cook and I don’t know how many servants besides? You 
mentioned you liked dates last night. Well, a huge sack 
arrived this morning, and meat, and bread, and tea, and 
sugar, and heavens know what beside. We are the 
Sayed’s guests and for the Lord’s sake don’t say you 
like anything else, or it will arrive here within an hour!” 

He paused for breath, while I gazed at him helplessly. 
When one has come from an Italian colony one is used 
to hospitality, for, from the Governor downwards, every¬ 
one was amazingly kind to us, but this was overwhelm¬ 
ing. I felt that a whole garden of floral rhetoric would 
not adequately express my gratitude. 

21 


22 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


We rode out through the deserted stretches of flat 
white rock and sand to see great herds of camels being 
watered. Bronze figures, nude but for a scarlet loin 
cloth, shouted and sang with monotonous rhythm as they 
let down goatskins at the end of a rope and heaved them 
up brimming to pour their contents into rough troughs. 
A white morabit and single palm marked the centre of 
a cluster of sand-coloured houses. Otherwise, the build¬ 
ings were scattered over a broad expanse with a straight 
line of the suq booths in the centre. We created so much 
sensation in the latter that I decided that my grey riding 
coat and felt hat were out of place. We told Mustapha, 
a resplendent individual belonging to one of the irregular 
bands, whom the Political Officer at Benghazi had kindly 
lent to us, to go and discover someone who wished to 
sell some native clothes. He returned half an hour later 
with a baffled and at the same time awed expression, in 
company with Sayed Rida’s confident, whose coal-black 
face looked out from the folds of an immense white 
kufiya. “You are the Sayed’s guests,” the latter in¬ 
formed us respectfully. “Anything that you need I will 
get for you at once.” Gravely he offered me a bulky 
parcel. It contained the most beautiful white silk jerd, 
striped like the one I had silently admired the previous 
night, with a green and silver agal, and a kufiya that filled 
my heart with joy, for it was a subdued blending of all 
rich colours—purple and rose and blue on a silver ground, 
with long dropping tassels. There was also a tarboush 
and a pair of wonderful yellow slippers. Before the 
faltering words were out of my mouth, Hassanein Bey 
had pounced upon the yellow slippers. His expression 
was that of a small child when a much-loved doll has been 
restored to it. “Hamdulillah!” he exclaimed, and fled, 
clutching his prize. 

I confess to spending a happy half-hour struggling 


PLANS FOR THE FLIGHT 


23 


with the intricacies of the jerd and picturing myself 
dressed in Sayed Rida’s splendid gift offering sweet 
mint tea to reverend sheikhs. Thereafter we erased any 
verbs expressive of desire from our vocabulary, but we 
did not succeed in evading our host’s royal generosity. 
We wanted a couple of small sacks into which to put 
a week’s supply of rice and flour, for once we left 
Jedabia we should have seven or eight days’ journey 
to the next oasis, and we planned to send the baggage 
camels ahead and ride light on the fastest beasts we could 
find. With this intention we again despatched the 
brightly clad Mustapha to the suq. Ten minutes later 
he was brought firmly back by the Head of the Police, 
a stalwart black with a hard, keen face. Our follower 
was protesting wildly, but to deaf ears, for behind him 
came the ebony confidant, Haji Abdel Salam. “X will 
send you the sacks,” he told me in the tone of a parent 
scolding a foolish child. “The Sayed wishes to give you 
everything you can need.” Even Hassanein Bey’s elo¬ 
quence failed him, while I wondered if we were living in 
one of the tales of the Arabian Nights. 

Our peace, however, was short-lived. For the first 
few days at Jedabia we were in a fool’s paradise. All 
round us lay the desert. It seemed so easy a thing to 
hire a few camels and a guide and disappear over the 
rim of the horizon. By the fourth day we had discovered 
a few of the most important difficulties. Firstly, there 
were no camels. There had been an excellent harvest. 
The Beduin was rich and he didn’t want to work. It was 
impossible to explain the exact destination of the caravan, 
for the Holy Oasis is far beyond the bourne of most 
camel-drivers’ dreams. Secondly, all work had to be 
done in secret, because the whole of our household were 
spies with the possible exception of the black cook, Ah. 
Mustapha had been in the Ufficio Politico and he 


24 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


dutifully reported the minutest of our doings. The Head 
of the Police, the stalwart Mabruk, was also not averse 
to Latin gold, so he placed his brother to watch us as 
horse-boy and, lest that were not sufficient, he sent us 
a mysterious servant whose head appeared suddenly at 
the glassless window whenever Hassanein Bey and I were 
studying the Koran or writing notes. We were never 
able to relax our vigilance for a second. We used to hold 
long Arabic conversations on how pleasant we found life 
in Jedabia, how we must certainly stay there a fortnight 
before returning to Benghazi. We knew that every word 
would be overheard and repeated. 

Bazaar rumour spoilt our first plan, which was exceed¬ 
ingly simple. We meant to persuade an ekhwan to 
accompany us to see some neighbouring village, where 
there would be a suppositional marriage or other festa, 
and from there drift on. We had not reckoned with the 
fanaticism of the Moslem. Tales of a wealthy Christian 
woman about to travel into the interior spread like a 
bush-fire. Mustapha came to me with lurid tales of 
throats cut almost within sight of the suq. Sayed Rida 
himself explained that no Christian life was safe beyond 
the boundaries of Cyrenaica, and that anyone supposed 
to have money was a marked prey for the lawless bands 
who swept out of the desert, seized their prey and dis¬ 
appeared into the limitless sands as ants upon an English 
lawn. We learnt many things that day. We discovered 
that Mannismann, the German, had been killed by his 
own Arab guard a few hours outside the town because 
he had twelve thousand pounds in gold upon him. We 
heard that the Tebu tribes of the group of oases erro¬ 
neously known as Kufra (really Kufara) have not 
entirely submitted to the Senussi rule and, consequently, 
still attack any caravans travelling beyond Taiserbo. 
“But I don’t understand,” I said. “Taiserbo is part of 




THE 


AUTHOR 


AT 


JEDABIA 


THE AUTHOR ON CAMEL-BACK 













































































































































1 

















































PLANS FOR THE FLIGHT 


2 5 


Kufara, isn’t it? It is marked so in our maps.” “No! 
No!” replied our informant impatiently. “Taiserbo is 
gareeb, gareeb [near]. You can go there easily. It is 
not important. There is no sikka [way]. Kufara is 
much farther on. The dangerous part is after Taiserbo. 
If you go to Buseima you may have to fight.” 

Thereafter we began a laborious, systematic campaign 
to correct the impression of a rich Christian woman. I 
discarded my hat for the Sayed’s beautiful kufiya. Early 
and late I could be heard reciting verses of the Koran. 
I already knew all the obligatory prayers, and took care 
to perform them minutely. Moreover, we used to 
wander through the Beduin camps which fringed Jeda- 
bia, talking to the women and gradually gaining their 
confidence. At first we were regarded with the ut¬ 
most suspicion, which gradually relaxed as we gave 
them Moslem salutations and told them how happy we 
were to be living an Arab life among Arabs. If a sheikh, 
a Haji, came to us, I used to murmur the “Shehada” to 
him: “Ash hadu ilia Illaha ill Allah wa ash hadu inna 
Mohammedan rasul Allah,” upon which he generally 
blessed me warmly. After a few days I was greeted 
enthusiastically and introduced to the solemn-faced babies 
adorned with silver amulets and taught how to bake flat, 
heavy bread in mud ovens. 

It is amazing how perfect is the wireless telegraphy 
system of the desert. One night, dining with Sayed 
Rida, I remarked that I was so glad there was no electric 
light and that I liked the local colouring and primitive 
lighting effect in Arab houses. This was translated into 
the bazaar into, “She is a Moslem. She hates all Euro¬ 
pean things. She wants to keep the old customs as our 
fathers had them.” 

We knew our campaign had succeeded on the eighth 
day, when, after the chief spy, despairing of getting a 


26 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


glimpse of us any other way, had brought us as a gift 
an absurd black bird with a bald head, a brother of Ali, 
the cook, arrived from his camel’s-hair tent. He greeted 
us kindly and told us that the Beduins were in sympathy 
with us, that they knew we were Moslems and of their 
own blood. 

Thus we felt we had done something to dispose of 
the probability of sudden death before we were a hundred 
kilometres on our way, but all other arrangements lagged 
intolerably. The most venerable and respected of all 
the ekhwan, Haji Fetater, who had done the great jour¬ 
ney right through Kufara to Wadai, was the one man who 
could probably help us on our way. He was of the 
Mojabra tribe and he so loathed the “Nasrani” that 
he would not be in the same room as a Christian. I do 
not know whether it was Hassanein Bey’s eloquence, 
or his sudden discovery that Sidi es Senussi himself 
had prophesied that the English would eventually be con¬ 
verted to Islam that finally induced him to promise to 
accompany us. “We are all servants of the Sayed. 
Only if he tells me to go, must I go,” he said, but when 
the prophecy had aroused his enthusiasm, he flung back 
his splendid grey head. “I will protect her,” he ex¬ 
claimed; “I will take her to Kufara, and she shall kiss 
the holy qubba and be a Moslem!” 

He was eighty years old, but he determined instantly 
that he would run the whole caravan and generally 
instruct us in the art of desert travelling. He had caught 
but a glimpse of me as I was hurried from the house in 
case my presence therein should pollute him. He can 
only have seen an exceedingly shy young person, with 
respectfully downcast eyes, in a pale blue tweed suit 
huddled on a ridiculously small pony, dangling a swollen 
foot in a native slipper, but he luckily took it into 
his head that he liked me. Hassanein Bey rapidly 


PLANS FOR THE FLIGHT 


27 


clinched his acceptance by repeating the “Fatha,” the 
opening “sura” of the Koran. This is only done on 
very important and solemn occasions and it constitutes 
at the same time a blessing and an oath. 

Even then our kindly host was not satisfied, but 
insisted on sending an escort with us, ten soldiers of his 
guard, coal-black slaves, under a commander called Abdul 
Rahim. He also determined to settle the vexed question 
of camels once for all by sending a caravan of his own 
to Kufara to bring back some of his belongings and 
allowing us to travel with it. To anyone who does not 
know the East, it would now appear that things were 
successfully settled. Not a bit of it! The soldiers were 
at Zuetina, distant 24 miles. The camels were at least 
two days’ journey away, a matter of 60 miles. They 
were vaguely described as being in the region of Antelat, 
the house of Sayed Rida’s family. Each day we 
watched the horizon with anxious eyes. Each day we 
counted eagerly every row of black specks that ap¬ 
peared amidst the sun-browned grass and rock, but 
neither camels nor soldiers appeared. We had decided 
that the caravan should announce its departure for noon 
and that in reality the long line of camels should steal 
past our door at 3 a.m. A few would be driven round 
a convenient wall and loaded hastily with all our outfit, 
after which we could mount and be 50 kilometres away 
before anyone knew of our departure! We could leave 
letters explaining a sudden opportunity and an equally 
sudden determination, and send back further notes from 
every oasis en route . 

Unfortunately, it was a race against time, for every¬ 
one was growing suspicious at my inexplicable desire to 
stay so long in a little mud village on the edge of the 
world. Omar, our Government interpreter, was deter¬ 
mined to get back to Benghazi for Christmas. The 


28 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 

delightful cavalry lieutenant who was political officer at 
Zuetina was naturally bored at having to drive his heavy 
camion three or four times a week from his little camp 
by the ocean to see what a mysterious Englishwoman 
might be doing in the debatable country on the fringe 
of civilisation. As the days wore on they tried by every 
means in their power to lure me from Jedabia, but my 
exceedingly swollen foot did me good service. “The 
stirrup hurt it so much riding here that I don’t want to 
risk it again till it is quite recovered,” I explained. 
They suggested camions, and I assured them I had so 
much work to do that I was only too glad of the peace 
and quiet of my Arab house to do it in. 

It was a ludicrous situation. Five young people used 
to forgather in the house of the doctor to partake of 
M. Omar’s delicious zabagliones , and not one of them 
ever uttered one word of truth! Each felt instinctively 
that the other was lying, but none knew exactly how 
far he was bluffing or what card he had up his sleeve. 
Perhaps we were a little better off than they, for we 
knew their game and they luckily had failed to under¬ 
stand ours. The political aspect was always before their 
eyes. In their anxiety to know whether Hassanein 
Bey was plotting a Pan-Islamic empire with the thirty 
Egyptian ex-coastguards who had taken refuge with 
the Senussi during the war, they overlooked other possi¬ 
bilities. I think the idea did *occur to them that I 
wanted to go much farther into the desert than they 
cared to permit, but I doubt if they suspected our real 
goal. This used to surprise me immensely at the time. 
Looking back, I realise that it would have been very 
difficult for them to imagine that the woman they saw 
in a panniered frock, with her French hat veiled in 
drooping lace and high heels to match the red of her 
striped cloak, would metamorphose herself into a Beduin 



BEDUIN WOMAN AT JEDABIA 


















































































































































- 




































































V 



















PLANS FOR THE FLIGHT 


29 


and attempt a journey which they looked upon as im¬ 
possible for a European and exceedingly difficult even 
for an Arab. 

We felt that we had one last card to play that they 
would never suspect—a midnight flight. We were loathe 
to use it, however. We waited patiently for the camels 
that did not come, and fenced desperately for time. 
Luckily our opponents were deceived by the apparent 
froideur existing between Hassanein Bey and myself. 
We had made a point of disagreeing with each other 
at every possible opportunity and even retailed our 
grievances occasionally to sympathetic ears. Suddenly, 
therefore, they took my companion into their confidence, 
which made things distinctly easier. Together they used 
to lay dark plots to induce me to leave Jedabia, where 
there was no cafe chcmtant and no “Hotel Nobile!” 
In spite, however, of this new move, we began to get 
very anxious. The spies had redoubled their vigilance. 
There were no signs of camels. Mabruk, the Head of 
the Police, introduced a person into our house whom he 
said was an ekhwan from Kufara, evidently intending 
that we should question him enthusiastically about his 
journey. We refrained from all mention of it, and the 
supposed ekhwan was so intensely stupid that one cannot 
imagine that he could have been much use to any secret 
service! 

This was our position on December 4 when, on our 
morning’s wander round the neighbouring encampments, 
we saw a line of camels coming in from Antelat. We 
instantly jumped to the conclusion that they were ours. 
One of the spies was leading the horse on which I was 
balanced sideways to protect my lame foot, so we could 
show no signs of joy, but for a few hours we made happy 
plans for the freedom of the desert. We had just 
finished a lunch of rice, dates, mutton and mint tea 


30 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


when the blow fell. The black wazir arrived in consider¬ 
able perturbation. Not only was there no news of our 
camels or of our soldiers, but our opponents were well 
aware that a caravan was starting for Kufara in a few 
days’ time and that we hoped to travel with it “for a 
day or two.” Hassanein turned to me with blazing eyes 
in a chalk white face. “It’s come to a fight,” he said, 
“and I’m glad.” I used to be amused sometimes at 
the way he shirked doing the simplest things till the 
last moment, but in sudden emergencies the whole 
strength and energy of the man flamed out and there 
was no one in the world I would rather have beside me. 
He grasped essentials rapidly and left me to fill in details. 
“It’s flight on two camels and the caravan must follow!” 
he said. As usual, I started to work out the practical 
possibilities while he went to gain further news. 

I think I shall always remember that long dragging 
afternoon. The wind was full of dust, but I took the 
pony and went down to one of the encampments feeling 
I simply could not smile. I felt hopeless and trapped 
as if a net were closing round me and there was a numb 
dead ache at my heart. Nevertheless I could not help 
responding to the smiles of the Beduin women who 
pressed round me, brilliant blots of colour in their orange 
and black, or red and black barracans, with blue tribe 
marks tattoed on their foreheads and half a dozen 
huge silver ear-rings dangling beneath their plaited hair. 
One laughed at my white hands against her black skin. 
“You have soap to wash with. We have none,” she 
said. The lounging white figures in the suq stared at 
me curiously as I passed, but did not protest. They 
had stoned a “Christian dog” from Zuetina the day 
before, but I was the Sayed’s guest and therefore 
honoured. A dignified sheikh gave me greeting. He 
was a Haji and he told me: “We are all under the 


PLANS FOR THE FLIGHT 


31 


Sayed’s orders. You may go safely where you like 
among us, for it is the Sayed’s wish.” Mustapha listened 
eagerly. “It is true,” he said. “The Sayed is great. 
All the people fear him. Otherwise they would kill every 
Christian in the country.” 

I began to realise the vast problem with which Italy 
is faced and to admire more than ever the way she is 
dealing with it. For the moment Europe has no message 
for the fierce fanatics of Libya, but the fertile altipiano 
of Cyrenaica, only a few miles from the sea, will have a 
prosperous future. Italian workmen have done so much 
to build up the prosperity of Egypt and Tunis. There 
is a wide field opening for them from Zuetina to Tobruk 
in which their industiy and thrift may benefit their own 
country. Cyrenaica, once the granary of the Roman 
Empire, will be fittingly colonised by the descendants 
of those legionaries who left their trace from Cyrene 
to far-off Misda. The budding colony should have a 
splendid agricultural future and the friendship between 
Italy and the Senussi, recently cemented at Regima, 
should open up the old trans-Saharan caravan routes. 
The Sultan used to confide his most precious merchandise 
to the protection of Sidi Ben Ali es Senussi on its long 
journeys to Wadai. Why should not the same arrange¬ 
ment be made between the Governor of Cyrenaica and 
the hereditary Emir of the Senussi? 

The sun was setting as I left the suq, a blaze of deep, 
flaming orange that we never see in Europe. The sky 
was molten in the crucible. I sent away the pony and 
sat crouched on the sand to watch the glory fade. A 
camel or two passed like huge distorted shadows across 
the burning west. A few white shrouded figures went 
by me with a soft “Bismillah!” I ached for a horse, 
a camel, anything that would take me away into the 
wide spaces beyond Jedabia. The strain of suspense 


32 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


eased a little in the evening, for during one of our games 
of cross purpose at the doctor’s house we discovered 
that our opponents proposed to prevent our accompany¬ 
ing the caravan on the ground that no ekhwan was 
going with it. Apparently they still did not suspect our 
ultimate destination, but we were not at all certain that 
they had not wired for the camions from Benghazi. We 
sat up late that night in the silent court with the stars 
above us, and the guardian walls, which I had learned 
to love, shutting out all eavesdroppers. The spies re¬ 
tired in a body after our frugal dinner and Ali was 
always thankful to spend the night in the family tent. 
We decided on a simple but somewhat desperate plan. 
We felt that we should be allowed only two or three 
more days in Jedabia without an open fight, and we 
could not be certain of the twenty camels necessary for 
the caravan. Therefore we decided to leave practically 
all our luggage behind and go off in the middle of the 
night, if possible, with the ekhwan. Our little world 
would be told next morning that we had gone to visit 
some of the neighbouring camps and would return in a 
day or two. To reassure them they would see all our 
clothes hanging up on their usual pegs, most of our suit¬ 
cases scattered about the room, our sacks and boxes of 
provisions stored in various corners, even my camp chair 
and the table on which I wrote. 

On December 6 we did a hard morning’s work. 
After our date and egg breakfast we settled ourselves 
with a Koran and note-books behind closed doors and 
said we did not wish to be disturbed. As soon as our 
retinue had retired to the white bell-tent which served 
as kitchen we set to work on the provision boxes. We 
emptied them of their contents and carefully filled them 
with immense stones which we laboriously collected from 
an inner court in course of construction. On top we 



NOMAD TENTS NEAR JEDABIA 







OUR SOLDIER SLAVES AND THE GUIDE ABDULLAH 




* 











































































PLANS FOR THE FLIGHT 


33 


put layers of straw and a few tins which could be seen 
through carefully arranged chinks. We sorted out an 
extra week’s provisions to add to those we had already 
prepared and the rest we put into big sacks, with the 
intention of sending these latter at midnight, when the 
spies were sleeping peacefully, to some place where they 
could be stored until the dilatory camels arrived and the 
caravan started. They would then be packed unosten¬ 
tatiously with all the rest of the loads and when we 
joined the caravan a few days’ journey on the way to 
Aujela we should recover our most necessary provisions. 
We ourselves, with the tent, two rolls of bedding, a 
fortnight’s provisions and two suit-cases chiefly contain¬ 
ing films, medicine, apparatus, candles, soap, etc., would 
disappear the following night in Beduin clothes. 

I confess to feeling a certain pang when I realised 
that I must leave every single European garment behind 
except a pair of riding boots and breeches and a woollen 
sweater. Hassanein said he thought it was carrying 
realism too far. I understood the reason when, sternly 
insisting that his one suit-case should hold half the 
apparatus and only the simplest necessities of life, it 
disgorged seven different coloured bottles of eau de 
Cologne and a mass of heterogeneous attire more suited 
to Bond Street than to the Sahara. I had to superintend 
the packing lest he ignore the claims of malted milk 
tablets, towels and woollen underclothing in favour of 
delicately striped shirts and a lavender silk dressing-gown! 
We wondered if we should ever see again the garments 
we left gracefully decorating the walls in order to indicate 
the imminence of our return, or whether a new fashion 
would be set in Jedabia! 

At lunch time the tailor came to fit my strange 
garments. It appeared that Sayed Rida wished to give 
me no fewer than four suits, but I assured him that I 


34 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


wanted only one to be photographed in and to show 
my friends in England. We finally compromised on 
two, one of which arrived that evening, an oddly shaped 
pair of trousers, very narrow at the ankle, made of white 
calico spotted with green leaves, and a dress like a 
voluminous chemise of dark red cotton with a blue 
pattern. We were told that the camels were ready but 
that the ekhwan was already regretting his moment of 
enthusiasm. “Will he be ready to start to-morrow at 
midnight?” “Inshallah!” was all the answer we got. 
Our plan was so simple, but it depended on two nights’ 
secrecy and secrecy is impossible among Arabs! 

However, we pretended not to worry. “El Maktub 
maktub!” we said, but I caught Hassanein anxiously 
opening the Koran to see whether a verse chosen at 
random would prove a good omen. He was delighted 
because the first one he saw read: “Nasrun min Allahi 
wa fathan garib” (“Victory and an opening out from 
Allah are near”). I was not very much more composed 
myself, for on repeating the long formal prayers that 
afternoon I realised from my companion’s horrified face 
that I was ascribing unto Allah salutations, prayers and 
—physics! (Tabiat instead of ta-hi-bat.) 

Sayed Rida took us for a drive in his car in the 
afternoon. There are no roads or even tracks beyond 
Jedabia, but the sand is hard and smooth. The Sayed 
thought it would be a good thing to show himself openly 
with us, and indeed, our fame increased after that drive. 
When we returned the whole of our household had 
attired itself in clean white garments and there was 
an awed moment while they all reverently kissed the 
Senussi’s hand. They dared not approach very close to 
do it, lest their garments touch their holy master, but 
it was wonderful to see the worship and homage they 
put into the act. They were chattels in the hand of the 


35 


PLANS FOR THE FLIGHT 

Sayed. As wakil of Sidi Idris he represented to them, 
as he does to thousands like them, the mystic being 
chosen by Allah to direct them. Their lives are his to 
command. He is their supreme judge as he is their 
defender and their guide. It is difficult for a European 
to realise the power held by the Senussi family, for there 
has been nothing approaching it in Europe. It is a 
reflection of the temporal and spiritual Papacy at its 
height. For instance, Sidi Idris might order one of the 
oldest and noblest ekhwan to start the following day 
for a two-thousand-mile journey to Lake Chad, and he 
would obey unquestioningly, without preparation or even 
surprise. “We are the servants of the Sayed,” he would 
say as he wrapped his burnus round him and prepared to 
face the waterless sands. 

When we decided on flight as the only possible 
means of leaving Jedabia, we asked Sayed Rida for a 
guide. He gave us Yusuf el Hamri and Mohammed 
Quemish and, calling them into our presence, he told 
them that if anything happened to us, whether by their 
fault or not, they would die immediately. The men 
accepted the statement as undoubted fact. Yet as Sayed 
Rida sat in our only camp chair in my big bare room, 
drinking sweet tea and eating Hassanein’s last macaroons, 
it was difficult to realise that the fate of a country prob¬ 
ably lay in his capable hands. The Sayed might declare 
a Holy War to-morrow against the infidels, and Islam, 
from Wajanga to the Mediterranean, might respond, but 
that afternoon our host talked with the simplicity of a 
child. We were trying to thank him for his amazing 
hospitality and for the permission he had given us to travel 
to Egypt by way of the great desert, which included the 
loan of camels, guides and an escort of soldiers, besides 
immense gifts of food and native clothing. 

Coming from an Italian colony we had become used 


36 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


to gracious hospitality, but Sayed Rida’s generosity was 
overwhelming. I have travelled in half the countries 
of the world; I have been the guest of mandarin and 
boundary rider, or rajah, Fijian ras and North-West 
Mounted Police and of every intermediate race and grade, 
but I have never received such generous, unquestioning 
welcome as in Beduin countries. Some of the happiest 
weeks of my life were spent in Syria as the guest of a 
great Arab prince. I used to think that nothing could 
match his kindness, but here in Jedabia I found its 
equal in another descendant of the Prophet, a Sherif 
of Islam. 

We asked Sayed Rida if we could send him anything 
from Cairo, our thoughts running to a jewel or a gold 
inlaid rifle. He asked for a green parrot and some 
gramophone records with a smile as delightful as his 
brother’s. 

“You see,” he said, “my life is rather lonely. It 
is not wise that I go out or that I show myself very much 
to our people. Our family is holy and we must live a 
secluded life. We may not see dancing or hear singing. 
Our people would not understand, but sometimes when 
I am alone late at night I play the gramophone, for I love 
music very much.” A curiously sweet smile illumined 
his kindly face and he beat time to an imaginary tune 
with a jewelled finger. “I do not like much noise,” he 
said. “I like the sad, soft melodies best. I think all 
music should be melancholy.” 

For a moment he was a child thinking wistfully of 
a toy and then, as Ali entered bent double with respect 
over his tray of tea, the Sayed resumed the grave 
dignity in keeping with his gorgeous clothes—a purple 
embroidered jelabia under an apple-green silk jubba 
with a wonderful crimson and blue kufiya stiff with gold 
thread and having great tassels of gold. 



WELL AT JEDABIA 




NOMAD ENCAMPMENTS ROUND JEDABIA 
































































PLANS FOR THE FLIGHT 


37 


Our busy day closed with a most humorous scene. 
After Ali and the spies had gone willingly to the amuse¬ 
ment or repose they desired, we dragged the six heavy 
sacks of provisions one by one out of my room across 
the court to the dark yard by the main door. There was 
no moon. Tinned meat weighs incredibly heavy. We 
fell over a lot of loose stones and we imagined we made 
a good deal of noise. The peculiar form of an Arab 
dwelling, however, precludes the possibility of being 
overheard. We then dug stones and sand from the 
unfinished bit of the house and filled some most realistic 
looking dummy sacks which we artistically arranged in 
the place of real ones. At 11 p.m. we got one of those 
unexpected shocks that send cold shivers down one’s 
back and desperate thoughts to one’s brain. There was 
a sudden knock at the door. It was too soon for our 
fellow plotters in search of the luggage. “Min da?” 
asked Hassanein icily and I felt the tautened thrill in 
his voice. “Mabruk,” answered the voice of the chief 
spy and then a long ramble about wanting to see the 
native garments already delivered, to make a pattern for 
the others his brother the tailor was making. As a 
matter of fact it was a perfectly genuine demand. We 
had asked the confidential wazir to hurry up the making 
of our clothes and he had done so to such good effect, 
by saying it was the Sayed’s wish, that the unfortunate 
tailor proposed to work all night, but to our apprehen¬ 
sive ears it sounded very suspicious. I was glad that 
Hassanein had not got a revolver on him. He told me 
afterwards that his first impulse had been to shoot the 
man and bury him instantly! Instead of which he 
murmured that the “sitt” was in bed and the magical 
word which retards the progress of Islam. “Bokra!” 
(To-morrow.) 

At 1 a.m. Hassanein, shrouded from head to foot in 


38 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


a white jerd, was waiting just outside the main door. 
A few minutes later there was the faintest scratch 
on the heavy wood. Almost before he had pulled it 
open seven dark figures, muffled up to the eyes, utterly 
unrecognisable, slipped into the yard. Not a word was 
uttered. Dexterously they shouldered the provision sacks 
and stepped away into the night without a murmur. Of 
course they simply revelled in the mystery and secrecy 
of it, but we wondered how soon rumour would reach 
the bazaar! 


CHAPTER III 


THE ESCAPE FROM JEDABIA 

D ECEMBER 7 dawned brilliantly fine. We rose 
from our camp beds feeling joyfully that thirty- 
six hours would elapse before we slept on them 
again. Our morning was enlivened by the visits of two 
or three friends from the neighbouring encampments. 
Sheikh Mohammed, the Haji, came in to tell us that 
we were welcome visitors to any Beduin camp. He 
drank three glasses of sweet tea in three gulps, asked in 
a mysterious whisper for a cigarette, hastily put the 
whole packet into his sleeve and demanded that I should 
repeat suras from the Koran to him. I did so to the 
best of my ability and he was much impressed. We 
meant to sleep in the afternoon, but the unsuspecting 
Sayed had most kindly ordered his slaves to perform a 
dance in our honour, so about 3 p.m. the sound of drums 
was heard outside our blind walls. Ali summoned us 
forth in great excitement. We sat on two chairs before 
our door and gradually the whole male population of 
Jedabia gathered round us, row upon row of shrouded 
white figures crouching on the sand. In an irregular 
circle round a couple of hide drums danced the black 
Sudanese slaves from Wadai, bought in the market at 
Kufara, presents from native potentates to the Senussi 
family, or children of slaves sent by the famous Ali 
Dinar, Sultan of Darfur. Slavery in the East is a kindly 
institution, quite unlike the horrors of “Uncle Tom’s 
Cabin.” The blacks are treated as part of the family. 


40 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


They are proud of their masters and devoted to them. 
They are trusted and confidential. Thus Ali came to us 
one evening in honest grief. “That Mustapha is a bad 
man,” he said. “He goes to the house of the doctor 
and says he has not had enough to eat here. It is not 
true. The Sayed is generous. There is everything here. 
It is not good for the Sayed’s honour that such things 
should be said.” 

The blacks enjoyed the dance even more than we did, 
for we had just heard that through too much ardour on 
the part of our allies there was likely to be a hitch in 
the arrangements. The long-delayed camels for the 
caravan had arrived at last. The soldiers had come in 
from Zuetina. We had better all start together at mid¬ 
night, said our confidant triumphantly. Anyone who 
knows the East will realise how difficult it is for even 
two or three people to slip away secretly. Everyone’s 
business is known from A to Z. Projects are discussed 
in the bazaars while they are still formless in the brain 
of the plotter. The idea that a score of camels and a 
dozen soldiers, with luggage, tents, stores, guides, etc., 
could start secretly from Jedabia was ludicrous. Already 
there was a rumour in the suq that we were going to 
Kufara because of the unfortunate suggestion that we 
should accompany the caravan for a day or two! There¬ 
fore, even while we gazed at the gyrating circle of blacks, 
who flung themselves into extravagant postures, chanting 
their monotonous songs and clicking together short sticks, 
we had sent post haste to rearrange matters. News was 
brought us that the delightful cavalry officer from Zue¬ 
tina had arrived, two days before he was expected. 

“I think I will go and have tea at the doctor’s,” I 
said firmly to Hassanein. “I will stay with them there 
for two hours, which will give you plenty of time to get 
the caravan postponed.” 



SAYED RIDA ES SENUSSI 













THE ESCAPE FROM JEDABIA 


41 


The spies were as clinging as limpets that day. 
Mabruk leant over my shoulder as I spoke, pointing to 
the wildest dancer with a forced smile. However, I was 
determined to spoil his little effort and insisted that he 
and Mustapha should accompany me on my walk. “I 
don’t like going through all these people alone,” I said; 
and reluctantly they had to come with me. 

Our last game of cross purposes will always remain 
in my mind, for, with one eye on the clock, I summoned 
every atom of intelligence to my aid. I allowed myself 
to be reluctantly persuaded to return by camion to 
Benghazi the following week. I asked reproachfully why 
no ekhwan could be found to accompany me on a little 
caravan tour. They assured me that none was willing 
to travel with a Christian, and that no one of that faith 
could journey beyond Jedabia. I took up and emphasised 
this point for some time, as it would eventually preclude 
their attempting to follow us. I allowed my bitter 
disappointment to be seen, was comforted and finally 
cheered up with a promise of visiting all the encampments 
on the way back. We parted the best of friends and I 
shall always retain a grateful memory of their kindness 
and care. So often we longed to confide all our plans 
to them. We were sure of their sympathy, but their 
very hospitality would have made it impossible for them 
to allow their erstwhile guest to venture her life on such 
a wild and dangerous journey. 

Six months before I had talked to an Arabian Emir 
about my project. “Heya magnuna!” he exclaimed 
to his wakils. “She is mad. If she could get to Kufara, 
she could get to any place in heaven or earth!” Thus 
we knew from the beginning that we must hide our 
object from our generous Italian friends. If they hadn’t 
thought that at least Hassanein had some political aim 
in coming to Jedabia, remorse would probably have 


42 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 

added to our mental troubles, but, luckily, the fact 
that they were obviously watching us turned the affair 
into a game and justified us in having a few secrets 
also. 

If my charming hosts in Cyrenaica read this book, I 
think they will forgive me for the part their own kindness 
and forethought forced me to play most unwillingly. 
They are all sportsmen. They, too, are travellers and 
lovers of the great desert. They laid the foundations of 
my journey by their long years of work in North Africa. 
They will reap the benefit when the friendship between 
European and Senussi is firmly cemented and the Beduins 
welcome the influx of commerce and exploration from 
over the sea. 

I returned at 7 p.m. to our walled Arab house, but 
the fantasia was still continuing. The gift of our last 
packet of cigarettes had stimulated the performers to 
frenzy and they were prepared to spend the night in an 
orgy of dance and song. Ordinarily, I should have loved 
watching their barbaric vigour and I was exceedingly 
grateful to the ever-thoughtful Sayed for giving this festa 
in our honour, but we had still a good many preparations 
to make, so we regretfully thanked the performers and 
despatched them to their homes. After a hasty meal, 
Hassanein went off to make final preparations concerning 
changing our Italian notes into heavy silver mejidies, the 
cumbersome coin of the country, buying bread and eggs, 
collecting the native dress and a dozen other things that 
had to be done at the very last moment for fear of 
arousing suspicion. I wrote a note to our Italian inter¬ 
preter, who had also proved guide, philosopher and 
friend, explaining that I was not to be entirely deprived 
of my desert journey after all, for at the last moment I 
was able to accompany an ekhwan who was travelling 
to an encampment a day or two away. I then made 


THE ESCAPE FROM JEDABIA 


43 


relays of green tea in an inadequate kettle and filled 
both our thermos flasks, also the water bottles. 

It was then nearly 9 p.m.., at which hour Hassanein 
had said he would return, but the minutes dragged on 
and there was no sign of his coming. At 10 I became 
anxious. I couldn’t lie still any more, and began walk- 
ing up and down the big room by the light of one candle 
guttering on the window ledge. Ah came to me to ask 
if he and the servant, who was also a spy, could go home. 
I said he must stay until Hassanein Bey returned, for I 
did not want to give the boy an opportunity of inquiring 
into my companion’s designs, but each hour that went 
by made our flight more and more difficult, for we could 
not begin to pack beds, luggage, etc., till the house was 
empty. At 11 I was nearly frantic. I don’t think I have 
ever spent a worse two hours. I began to wonder whether 
the spies had discovered our plot and, deciding to 
frustrate it at all costs, had arranged to have my ally 
knocked senseless as he crossed the wide expanse of white 
sandstone between our house and the scattered buildings 
of Jedabia. 

At 11.30, as I was preparing to set forth in search 
and was actually winding myself into the intricacies of 
a jerd so as to pass unnoticed in the dark, Hassanein 
arrived, staggering beneath the mejidies, for a very 
moderate sum in that coinage weighs intolerably. He 
discharged eggs, bread and clothing in a heap and 
explained that the usual Arab dilatoriness had delayed 
him. The letters to sheikhs of zawias were not ready, 
the eggs were not cooked, the clothes were not quite 
finished. However, we didn’t wait for much talk. We 
sent off the servants with minute instructions about 
to-morrow’s work. An Arab spy is clever in some ways, 
but he never looks ahead, so it is generally fairly easy 
to lull his suspicions. 


44 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


The instant the door shut behind them we literally 
flung ourselves on the luggage. We wrestled first with 
the beds and flea-bags, stufling them into old sacks to 
look like native bundles. The tent had to be disposed of 
in the same way—its poles tied up in a red prayer-rug, 
its canvas disguised in native wrappings. Not one single 
bit of European luggage must be visible. My suit-case 
was already packed and it was but a minute’s work to 
push it into a striped flour sack, but my heart sank when 
I saw Hassanein’s room. It was still littered with what 
he called necessities. We packed and pushed and tugged 
at his bundles, getting frantically hot and tired, but 
always when we had, with superhuman effort, triumph¬ 
antly strapped up a bulging roll, a minute later he would 
remember something he absolutely must put in and 
want the thing undone. When but half an hour was left 
before our departure was due, I became desperate and 
took matters into my own hands. I packed the food 
into one knapsack. The necessities I divided into two 
others. I shut his suit-case firmly on the most useful 
articles I could collect from the chaos. I stood over 
him equally firmly while he put mackintoshes with fleece 
linings, rugs and extra native dress into the bedding. I 
pulled the straps to a tighter hole myself before scurrying 
off to dress. 

Let no one think it is easy to get into Beduin 
feminine attire for the first time. The tight white 
trousers presented difficulties over riding breeches. The 
red tobh was too tight at the neck. The barracan needed 
much adjustment. One end flaps loose over the head, 
which is already swathed in a tight black handkerchief 
hiding all the hair, while the other is wound twice round 
in the form of a skirt and comes up over the left shoulder 
to make the front bit of the bodice. It is all held in 
place by a thick red woollen “hezaam” at least twelve 



THE AUTHOR IK BEDUIK DRESS 




































































































































































































































THE ESCAPE FROM JEDABIA 


45 


feet in length, which is wound round and round till one’s 
waist resembles a mummy and is tied one side with 
dangling ends. Under this I wore my revolver belt, 
with two fully loaded Colts and a prismatic compass in 
a case. 

Glancing round my room as I put on my huge yellow 
heel-less slippers, I decided it looked a very realistic 
picture of the abode left temporarily and in haste. My 
cherished blue tweed hung on one hook and a rose-red 
sweater on another. A few books and papers, with a 
hot-water bottle and some stockings, were scattered on 
convenient chairs. The cases and sacks of stones stood 
formally round the walls. A bottle of complexion lotion 
was prominent on a shelf and my European shoes were 
in their usual row! With a sigh of relief I dragged the 
sack containing my suit-case to join the disguised camp 
outfit by the main door and, blowing out the candle in 
my room, closed the door for the last time. 

My cheerfulness rapily evaporated when I crossed 
the court to Hassanein’s room. The litter was inconceiv¬ 
able. Everything that we had shut twenty minutes ago 
was open. He himself, with ruffled wild hair, was still 
in shirt and riding-breeches. To a casual observer he 
appeared to be playing a game of leap frog with the 
various bundles, in which the object seemed to be to 
upset as many things as possible. “You have exactly 
six minutes in which to get ready,” I said in an awful 
voice. A chair fell with a crash, breaking an eau de 
Cologne bottle and sending a mass of little tubes, bottles 
and boxes rolling to my feet. Thereafter followed ten 
minutes’ best American hustle. In spite of feeling like 
a swathed Chinese infant in my cumbersome dress, I 
attacked that room with a personal venom that surely 
had effect even on inanimate things, for the suit-case shut 
almost unprotestingly on a huddled mass in which the 


46 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


parcels of mejidies stuck out like Mount Everest. I 
don’t know what I said. I imagined at the time it was 
quite unforgivable, but Hassanein is' the most good- 
tempered person in the world. He submitted to being 
pushed and pulled into the white garments he had to 
wear over his European riding-kit—voluminous white 
pantaloons, long flowing shirt and woollen jerd. I 
believe I banged a white kufiya on his head and flung 
an agal at him before rushing from the room to take 
up my position behind the main door with a tiny dark 
lantern which revealed the piles of corpulent sacks. 
When, a few minutes later, a stately white figure with 
flowing lines unbroken save by the crossed revolver belts, 
true son of a sheikh of the famous Azhar University, 
joined me, I could hardly recognise in this solemn Arab 
the wild individual who was playing at hay-making a 
few minutes before. 

Of course our fellow-plotters were late! We waited 
nearly an hour crouched on the sacks, while the only 
thing that broke the silence of a desert night was the 
braying of a donkey near the suq. At about 1.45 we 
heard the faint roar of protesting camels and our pulses 
quickened. Some ten minutes later stealthy footsteps 
approached. There was a light scratch on the door, and 
the operation of the previous night was successfully 
repeated, only this time we had another quarter of an 
hour’s suspense after the porters went forth with the 
first sacks before they could return for the last. Our 
confidant leant against the door, motionless and calm, 
looking at the starlit sky. “Bahi!” he murmured, as 
the mysterious figures reappeared, the only word he had 
uttered the whole time. Shouldering knapsack, water- 
bottle, thermos flask and kodak, I stumbled out of the 
dark passage into the moonless night. A strong, cold 
wind met me and I wondered, shivering, why a Beduin 


THE ESCAPE FROM JEDABIA 


47 


woman does not freeze to death. I’ve never seen them 
wear anything but a cotton barracan. Even while I 
limped across the open white sands, for the camels were 
hidden some three hundred yards away, near the rough 
cemetery that surrounds the deserted morabit of Sidi 
Hassan, I felt that I wanted an overcoat even more than 
I wanted to go to Kufara! 

Nevertheless, it was freedom at last and excitement 
thrilled us. There was a moment’s pause on the part of 
our puzzled guide when absolute blackness on all sides 
gave no hint of direction. Then a muffled roar told us 
that a camel was on our left and the smothered sound of it 
suggested that someone was probably sitting on its head. 
A moment more and a dark mass loomed up beside a 
broken wall. Thankfully I subsided on a heap of stones. 
It is not the slightest use arguing with a camel-driver 
about a load. It is waste of energy to try to hurry him. 
He is used to weighing burdens minutely, to arranging 
them slowly to his own satisfaction. So I was prepared 
for an hour’s wait while our retinue cut rope, made 
“corners” to the sacks with stones, discussed loads, lost 
camels, caught them again and were generally inefficient. 
I was genuinely surprised, therefore, when in only twenty 
minutes everything was noiselessly packed and the camels 
ready to start. Yusuf el Hamri and Mohammed Quemish, 
our two confidential servants, were introduced to me in 
the dark and we exchanged a few florid sentences in 
which the words “mabsut” and “mamnun” played a 
large part. 

Then I hoisted myself on to my camel, a huge, blond 
beast, with no proper saddle. A spike stuck up in front 
and behind and his hump was painfully evident between 
the rolled straw of the baggage serg. On the top were 
folded a couple of native mats and thereon I perched in 
my uncomfortable, closely wound clothes, which made 


48 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


mounting a matter of peril and difficulty. In spite of all 
this, when my great beast rose to his stately height and 
moved off into the night, exhilaration rushed over me. 
I hadn’t been on a camel for three months, and then on 
the beautiful trotting “hajin” of the Sudan. This was 
only a fine baggage “hamla,” but he was in keeping 
with the desert and the night and our wild, impossible 
project. I was happy. Also, it was a wonderful start. 
Sir Richard Burton wisely writes that the African 
traveller must always be prepared for three starts—the 
long one, the short one and the real one. Later we 
realised how right he was, but for the moment, as our 
little line of camels swayed off into the darkness beyond 
the white morabit, we only felt that we had escaped. 

“How amazing that they can find ,their way in 
pitch darkness like this!” I exclaimed, and only when 
Orion had appeared in four different directions did I 
begin to wonder whether they could! We had started 
just before three, striking a northerly course which sur¬ 
prised us, as we knew that Aujela lay to the south. We 
comforted ourselves with the idea that our guides were 
purposely avoiding the main track, and patiently we 
bore the icy wind and constant change of direction. 
When, after an hour, we turned completely round, we 
decided it was necessary to expostulate. Yusuf, on being 
shown a luminous compass, refused to believe that the 
north was where the needle directed. We pointed out 
the extraordinary movement of the stars and he remained 
unconvinced. He looked pathetically at the heavens and 
asked persistently for “Jedi,” the star that had guided 
him apparently in many wanderings over half Africa. 
Unfortunately we could not find her for him, though we 
pointed out most of the constellations from the Great 
Bear to the Milky Way. 

We continued our aimless progress for another hour. 



(JX LOADING OX THE SECOND DAY FROM JEDABIA 



i 




\ 


THE ESCAPE FROM JEDABIA 


49 


As we were merely describing irregular circles we were 
not surprised when a little before five a chorus of dogs 
barking proclaimed our nearness to Jedabia. “It is 
an encampment,” said Yusuf. “I know where we are 
now!” and at that moment the donkey in the suq 
brayed quite close to us! I couldn’t help laughing. In 
a few minutes our desperate midnight flight would land 
us before the doors of the house from which we had 
escaped so triumphantly three hours earlier. The dis¬ 
tressed Yusuf, inexplicably bereft of his tame star, was 
all for camping there and then to await the dawn, but, lest 
the rising sun should reveal to the astonished eyes of the 
early astir a dishevelled party asleep on the space before 
the mosque, I firmly took command. By the compass 
I marched them due south of the donkey’s bray for half 
an hour. At least we should be out of sight at dawn 
and could then start off on the right track. 

The wind seemed colder than ever as we “barraked” 
our camels on the flat, sandy waste. We were frozen 
and shelterless. Excitement, suspense and physical 
labour had all combined to wear us out. My foot 
was swollen and inflamed after its unusual exercise. 
Hassanein had rheumatism in his back. There was an 
hour to wait for the dawn. I doubt if a more miserable 
couple existed than the two who rolled themselves into 
the thin and dirty camel rugs and lay down on the hard 
sand, their heads on tufts of spiky grass. I did not 
sleep. It was too cold. The wind searched out every 
corner of my aching body. I began to feel the strain 
of our sleepless nights and days of suspense. Even my 
sense of humour had gone. It was five weeks since we 
had left England and we had got no farther than a 
sand heap outside Jedabia! At six a flush of pale pink 
appeared in the sky in a direction which amazed Yusuf. 
Shivering, with chattering teeth, we rose to a windy 


50 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 

dawn! Mohammed was already murmuring, “Allahu 
Akhbar,” devoutly turning towards the kibla at Mecca. 
We followed his example, abluting in the sand as is 
permissible when there is no water. Luckily it is only 
necessary to go through the “Fatha” and the requisite 
“Raqa-at.” The kneeling position hurt my foot excru¬ 
ciatingly, and I could hardly get it into my huge yellow 
shoe again. 

The men bestirred themselves to some purpose. Five 
minutes after the last “Salamu Aleikum wa Rahmat 
Allah” had saluted the angels who stand on either side 
to record a man’s good and bad deeds, the camels were 
loaded and we were moving away from the white qubba 
of Sidi Hassan and the scattered mud houses which 
appeared but a stone’s throw distant. T’^ere had been 
no time to eat. I tried to force a hard-boiled egg down 
my throat as I swayed along, but I could not manage it. 
Hassanein was doubled up with rheumatism and I tried 
every possible position to ease my foot. My hands were 
numb as I clutched the gaudy barracan, red, blue and 
orange, round me, and prayed for the sun to warm me. 

Every few minutes we turned round to see if Jedabia 
had disappeared, but it must stand on a slight rise as 
the morabit was visible for th^ee hours. Distance is 
illusive in the desert. Everything looks much nearer 
than it really is. One sees the palms of an oasis early 
in the morning, plans to arrive before midday, and is 
lucky if one reaches it by sunset. However, by 10.30 
every sign of human habitation had disappeared and only 
a flat sandy plain, tufted with coarse grey brush a few 
inches to a foot high, lay all around us. Thankfully we 
halted, turned the camels to graze, spread the scarlet 
woven rugs in the sun, and prepared to eat. 

Further troubles threatened when we discovered 
that our retinue, Yusuf, Mohammed and two coal-black 


THE ESCAPE FROM JEDABIA 


51 


Sudanese soldiers, had brought no provisions of any sort. 
They had trusted either to us or to joining the south¬ 
bound caravan within a few hours. Consternation seized 
us. In order to travel light we had brought what we 
considered the least possible amount of food necessary 
for two people for a week—that is, one tin of meat per 
day, with a very small ration of flour, rice, dates and 
tea. How were we going to feed six people for perhaps 
a fortnight on it? At the moment we were too tired 
to think. We doled out to the retinue rice, tea and 
most of the hard-boiled eggs intended for ourselves and, 
after the frugal meal, insisted on immediate departure. 
There was a great deal of grumbling. They were all 
tired and they wanted to sleep there and then. The 
blacks were openly rebellious. “We are not your slaves,” 
they said. “We will not over-tire ourselves.” How¬ 
ever, by force of sarcasm, encouragement and laughter, 
we got them to load the camels. 

In Libya they do not girth the baggage saddles at all. 
They merely balance the bales evenly according to weight 
on either side of a straw pad round the hump. Thus, 
if the camel stumbles badly or is frightened and runs a 
few paces, the luggage over-balances and crashes to the 
ground, generally terrifying the beast into a mad gallop. 
I suppose ours were carelessly loaded, for the tent 
dropped off three times and tempers grew sulky. 

About one we came to a small cluster of camel’s- 
hair tents in the shelter of a slight rise and the 
retinue clamoured to stop there for the night. The 
Arab is greedy by nature, while the Sudanese is positively 
voracious. At one meal he will devour what would 
support a European family for a day. Having seen our 
meagre provisions, the retinue thought they would get 
a better dinner in these Beduin tents. They protested and 
argued violently, but we were ruthless. There was fear 


52 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


of pursuit and of being recognised. Yusuf joined his 
hands in prayer. “We will say you are the wife of an 
ekhwan,” he said, “and that we are taking you to 
Jalo,” but he pleaded in vain. We moved on and they 
followed perforce, surly, bronzed Beduins in coarse 
woolen jerds, rifles slung across their backs. 

The impressions cherished since childhood are grad¬ 
ually disappearing from my mind. One hears so often 
of the untiring endurance of the Beduin and of his 
frugal fare. I used to believe that he could ride for days 
without sleep and live on a few dates or locusts. He 
may be able to do the latter if he is absolutely obliged 
to, but normally his appetite is large and his amiability 
depends on his food. With regard to his endurance, I 
have met Tuaregs who had accomplished some amazingly 
swift rides, but in the French Sahara, in Syria or in 
Libya, as in the Sudan, I have never found an Arab 
who did not want to camp several hours before I did. 
South of Touggurt I once had a delightful guide called 
Ali, a blue-eyed, ruddy-haired Tuareg, who must have 
had Vandal blood in his veins and he used to get posi¬ 
tively haggard after a nine hours’ ride without a pause. 

After 2.30 we could not urge our retinue farther. 
It was obvious that they were very tired, but it is 
doubtful if they were as exhausted as we were, for we 
had worked very hard the preceding day and night, 
while they were “fadhling” in the suq. However, Yusuf 
seized my camel rein. “This is a good place. We 
must rest,” he said. It was no use exasperating them. 
We had ridden for six hours. A camel does a regular 
two and a half miles an hour, so we imagined ourselves 
about 15 miles from Jedabia and safe from pursuit. 

Almost before we had got the sacks off the camels 
Mohammed had rolled himself in his jerd and was 
actually asleep. Yusuf helped us half-heartedly while we 


THE ESCAPE PROM JEDABIA 


53 


struggled to put up the tent, but we unrolled bedding, 
put down ground-sheet, doled out provisions, fitted the 
camp beds together ourselves. The Sudanese collected 
brushwood, yawning violently and infinitely wearily. 
We boiled tea and drank it sugarless, for the retinue had 
the usual Arab passion for sugar. I looked at myself 
once in a tiny hand-glass, and was thankful to put it 
down, for I hardly recognised the begrimed and haggard 
visage, yellow, sunburnt and lined, that peered out under 
the heavy black handkerchief between the folds of the 
barracan. A gale rose suddenly and nearly swept our 
tent away, but we did not mind. We slept fitfully, 
woke to cook rice on a brushwood fire and went to bed 
about 6 p.m. with a thankfulness too deep for words. 
Feather mattresses, frilled pillows, Chippendale or 
Louis XV beds all have their charms, but I have never 
been so grateful for any as I was that night for my 
flea-bag and my air cushion. 

At 6 next morning Yusuf woke us with a cry of “El 
Fagr,” and after the usual prayers we set to work to 
break camp. We informed the retinue that we intended 
to reach Wadi Farig and its well that day and therefore 
they must not count on a midday halt. Consequently 
they insisted on making a fire and cooking half our 
week’s rations straight away! We started at 8 a.m. and 
continued a south-easterly-southerly course all day. 

Wadi Farig is only 60 kilometres from Jedabia, 
but I imagine our first day we must have made a detour 
in order to avoid the main route, for it was not till 
2 o’clock on the second day that a mirage on the horizon, 
a sheet of silver water bordered with purple mountains, 
proclaimed the position of the wadi. “It is bayid, 
bayid!” said Mohammed. “We cannot reach it before 
sunset. Let us rest now!” This time, however, we 
would not stop. We had shared our flasks of tea and our 


54 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


dates evenly with him at noon and we felt that after 
a good night’s sleep, if we could ride nine hours on end, 
they could too. It was an absolutely perfect day, cloud¬ 
less and still, but the sun was very hot at noon. It 
scorched through the thin folds of my barracan and 
made one wonder why Europe and not Africa invented 
parasols. 

The character of the country remained unchanged. 
Always the same sandy scrub stretched away as far as 
the eye could see. Occasional jerboas or lizards scuttered 
into their holes as we approached. Once a dozen gazelle 
fled swiftly across our path. Mohammed tried a shot at 
them, but he was too slow. Another time we passed a 
large rabbit warren and a couple of white scuts dis¬ 
appeared into the labyrinth of holes. We struck a main 
track about noon and I noticed a sage bush covered with 
bits of different coloured threads. It appears that every 
wayfarer adds a piece of cotton or wool from his attire 
to show that this is a desert “road” and that caravans 
pass that way. Yusuf contributed a white thread from 
his girdle, and I a red one from my long hezaam. 

All that day we met only two travellers. I discreetly 
covered my face while they exchanged greetings with 
our retinue. The desert telephone was at work again. 
They brought news from Jalo which they exchanged 
for tales of Jedabia. They were not interested in us. 
Mrs. Forbes had disappeared into space, and in her place 
was a Mohammedan woman called Khadija, travelling 
with a kinsman, an Egyptian Bey, son of a Sheikh 
el-Azhar. She wore Beduin clothes, followed their 
customs, prayed to their God, lived their life. Her 
language was certainly different, but the Arabic varies 
so immensely between Baghdad and Marrakesh that my 
faltering conversation was attributed to my being accus¬ 
tomed only to the classical language. Even Hassanein 


THE ESCAPE FROM JEDABIA 


55 


could hardly understand the dialect used by the Libyan 
Beduins. It is not a case of accent or pronunciation. 
Nearly all the words are different. 

I cannot imagine why Wadi Farig is marked on the 
map as a vivid green splash across the colourless desert. 
The slight depression running due east and west between 
the two faint ridges about 15 metres high varies in no 
respect from the surrounding country. No blade of 
grr ss or green thing decorates it. Nothing breaks the 
monotonous sand and grey brushwood except the one 
well of bitter brackish water. We arrived just as the 
sun was setting and had difficulty in getting the camels 
past the well in order to camp on the higher ground 
beyond. Hassanein was riding a nervous “naga” 
(female), who never kept her head in one direction for 
more than a minute or two. She now decided to race 
for the well while a playful companion kicked off a bale 
or two, upset the balance of the rest, caught her foot 
in a falling sack and tore wildly away, scattering her 
load to the winds. My stately beast was in an amorous 
mood, so, with guttural gurglings, he added himself to 
the general melee. I had to dismount and limp up to 
the rise, dragging him forcibly after me, while the men 
collected our belongings and reloaded them. It was a 
race with the sun, but we just won it. As the last 
crimson glow faded in the radiant west and the devout 
Mohammed lifted a sandy nose from his ablutions, the 
last tent peg was driven in. Brush fires gleamed on the 
rise opposite, for wherever there is a desert well there 
are a few scattered tents of the nomads whose homes 
move with the season and the pasture. 

We made a flaming pyre and sat round it in a circle 
of pack-saddles. Yusuf had found his beloved Jedi and 
he pointed her out to me triumphantly—the Pole star! 
The silence of the desert encircled us and a faint scent 


56 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


of thyme stole up from the cold sand. Farraj (both the 
black Sudanese were called Farraj) began intoning verses 
of the Koran—a melodious sound in the starlit night. 
Then, surprised by his own song, he suddenly sprang to 
his feet and chanted loudly, triumphantly, the muazzin’s 
call to prayer, “Allahu Akhbar. Allahu Akhbar. Ash 
hadu ilia Illaha illallah wa ash hadu inna Mohammedan 
rasul Allah!” The Shehada rolled splendid, intolerant, 
from his lips and his voice rose higher on the cry, 
“Haya alia sala! Haya alia fellah!” till we all took 
up the chorus of “Allahu Akhbar, Allahu Akhbar!” 

As I undressed in the “harem” portion of the tent, 
which had enormously impressed our retinue, I pondered 
on the character of these men with whom we were to 
live in familiar intercourse for months. Apart from 
their fierce fanaticism, which made it a duty for them 
to kill the infidel and the Nasrani as we kill dangerous 
and pestilential vermin, they had the simplicity of 
children. I felt that our blacks would steal all our food 
one day if they happened to be hungry and defend us 
most gallantly the next. They are utterly unable to 
provide for the morrow. Their trust in Allah is of the 
blind kind that does not try to help itself, yet the Koran 
says, “Allah works with him who works.” Again and 
again we told them about the scarcity of food. We 
showed them the pathetic limit of our provisions. They 
said, “The caravan will come to-morrow! Inshallah!” 

Knowing the dilatory habits of the East, I had very 
little faith in the arrival of that caravan for at least a 
week, but we agreed to their persistent request to camp 
for two days at the wadi to give it a chance of joining 
us. If it did not arrive on the evening of the 11th, 
bringing with it all our provisions, we should have to 
send back the two blacks, and continue post-haste to 
Aujela with Yusuf and Mohammed. With that intent 


THE ESCAPE FROM JEDABIA 


57 


we put into one sack the smallest quantity of food for 
four people for five days—that is, a tin of meat or sardines 
per person per day, with coffee and dates. When this 
was done we were horrified at the little that remained. 
The blacks wanted to bake great flat loaves of unleavened 
bread morning and evening and we had so very little 
flour. I began to realise that if the caravan did not 
arrive we should die of exhaustion on the way to Aujela. 
Let us once lose the way, let a storm delay us, let the 
retinue prove unreliable and insist on eating more than 
the day’s meagre ration and we should be lost! Yet 
we were determined on one thing only—not to go back. 

“In any case we have the peace and quiet of the 
desert,” I thought, as I went to sleep and woke a few 
hours later to pandemonium indescribable. I’ve heard 
the roar of an uncaged lion in Rhodesia, but never before 
had I heard such mad bellows of rage as made the night 
hideous. “The camels have gone mad,” I gasped, as 
I flung myself out of the tent. Thunder of sound broke 
from a heaving black mass only a few yards from our 
canvas walls. Shouts came from Yusuf and Mohammed, 
who seemed to be aimlessly dancing round the wildly 
excited beasts. Then the mass crashed roaring to its feet 
and two camels dashed madly past me, missing the tent 
by a foot. I found Hassanein only half awake at my 
elbow. “What are they doing?” he said blankly. 
“In the spring the camels’ fancy lightly turns to 
thoughts of love!” “But it isn’t the spring!” he 
objected drowsily. “Never mind. God! They’re 
coming back!” We retreated hastily from the tent. 
In Syria I had seen a maddened beast go right through 
a tent in such a mood, and the vision of the crushed 
poles and canvas, intricately mixed up with shattered 
baggage and an absolutely flattened camp bed, flashed 
across me. I took up a strategic position in the open 


58 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


but the bellowing brutes staggered away again, their 
roars mercifully fading in the distance. “Is this likely 
to happen often?” I asked Yusuf. “Yes, when it is 
cold,” he answered indifferently. “Two things increase 
in winter, the camels and the sea!” 

We enjoyed the rare luxury of sleeping late next 
morning and woke to another gorgeous day. The 
water from the well was almost undrinkable—it was so 
salt and muddy—but we washed in it triumphantly. 
Unfortunately, Hassanein was temped to wash his hair, 
with the odd result that it thereafter stood up like a 
tuft of coarse ostrich feathers. Everything dries appall¬ 
ingly in the desert. One’s skin is cracked and lined 
after a few days. One’s nails break. One’s hair dries 
and becomes brittle. Yet one does not mind. The 
desert has a subtle and a cruel charm. She destroys 
while she enthralls. She is the siren from whom there 
is no escape. Cynthia Stockley, whom I met years ago 
in Bulawayo, writes in one of her vivid stories of 
African life that once the desert has stuck her claw into 
a man, he must return to her, for only she can heal the 
wound she has made. 

The preceding night the wadi had been empty. 
Tha^t morning it was crowded. Half-naked brown figures 
hauled water for a great herd of camels who crushed 
round the low mud walls of the well. A flock of sheep 
waited their turn at a short distance. More camels 
strayed slowly down the rise, grazing as they walked. 
Some white figures came up to greet us, rifles slung across 
their backs. They were the dwellers in the nuggas whose 
fires we had seen the night before. The desert wires had 
informed them of our imminent arrival before we had 
left Jedabia! They sat round our brushwood fire and 
drank tea sweetened with crushed dates, as the sugar 
had run out. Hassanein and I left them to “fadhl” with 


THE ESCAPE FROM JEDABIA 


59 


our retinue and went and sat on a sandhill and dreamed 
visions of the caravan, that would end all our troubles, 
coming over the rise opposite. Instead, we saw only 
Farraj go down the wadi to buy bitter camel’s milk 
and date pulp, highly flavoured with sand, from the 
nugga men. When the sunset dyed the land to crimson 
glory we returned to our camp frantically hungry, 
for we had eaten nothing since 8 a.m., and then 
only rice and tinned vegetables, because the latter were 
disliked by our retinue. The two blacks were playing 
draughts on the sands with white shells and camel dung. 
“Fadhl!” urged Mohammed, smiling. “Fadhl!” 
“Do not live always alone,” said Yusuf. “Mix with 
us a little. We shall not forget who is master.” From 
this I knew that Hassanein had won another of his 
personal victories. He had a wonderful way of gaining 
the confidence and sympathy of Arabs, from the Sayeds 
down to the fanatical Beduin. 

The mental atmosphere of our retinue had been most 
unpropitious during the first two days. We realised that 
our journey would be almost an impossibility unless it 
changed, but, wisely, Hassanein would not hurry matters. 
A word dropped here and there, swift rebuke or warm 
praise, hinted sympathy with the Senussi aims, tales of 
old friendship with the Sayeds, little councils of war in 
the outer tent, had all borne fruit. We felt the effect 
that night as we toasted ourselves before the fire, watch¬ 
ing Farraj knead his heavy bread and cook it in the 
ashes. When it was baked, he pressed some upon us 
with a broad, toothless smile. It was hot, heavy and 
indigestible, but wholly delicious with our corned beef. 
Only the cocoa was a failure, as the water was terribly 
salt. 

I settled myself into the double woollen flaps of my 
flea-bag that night with a great sense of peace. The 


60 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


thermometer had soared up at midday, but the nights were 
always chilly, and we were extremely grateful for our 
rainproof sleeping-sacks, sprinkled with insect powder, 
which, by the way, had no effect whatever on the fleas. 
The third morning in Jedabia I had spent a happy half- 
hour chasing agile insects round my bedding. Hassanein 
entered with breakfast at my most heated moment, when 
I thought I had cornered the largest. A sweet smile 
spread over his face. “There are dozens and dozens in 
my room/’ he said; “but it doesn’t matter. At last I 
have found a use for my target pistol. Don’t ever laugh 
at me again for useless baggage!” I thought of this as 
I heard a bed upset on the other side of the partition, 
but this time it was only a delicious little field mouse 
scurrying wildly round in search of her hole, which was 
probably somewhere under our ground-sheet. 

A little later I heard the Koran intoned verse by 
verse and to its monotonous murmur I fell asleep 
wondering at the desert spell which had changed the 
Oxford “Blue” into a typical Beduin, devout as the 
fanatic whose prayers rose five times a day to Allah, 
aloof as the nomad whose wistful eyes are ever on a 
desert horizon, impenetrable as the jerd which muffled 
him from head to foot. 

December 7 provided us with a “gibli,” a strong 
south wind laden with sand, which nearly tore up our 
tent pegs and covered everything with a thick yellow 
coating. It was a most unpleasant day. Hair, eyes and 
skin were full of sand. Everything we ate was flavoured 
with it. The dust sheet was three inches deep in it. It 
oozed from the pillows and from every article of clothing. 
It penetrated every box and bag. The noise of flapping 
canvas and cracking pegs was a continual strain, and in 
the middle of it arrived a messenger from Jedabia, 
bearing a letter from Benghazi which our opponents 


THE ESCAPE FROM JEDABIA 61 

had sent on with an amused message written on the 
back: 

“Nous vous envoyons notre sincere admiration pour 
Vaptitude que vous avez pour des decisions tt&s rapides, 
avec nos meilleurs souhaits d J un bon et tres long voyage 
desertique!” 

I think the French emanated from the cavalry officer 
with a sense of humour. From the beginning he may 
have suspected our whole project, but, a noted fencer, 
he was as clever with words as with the foils. However, 
we knew that a messenger who confessed that he had 
been told to follow us even unto Jalo would not be 
sent merely to bring us an unimportant letter. He was 
intended to find out our destination for certain, so we 
thought he had better wait with us until the caravan 
arrived or until we ourselves left for Jalo. Farraj 
amused us immensely, for, having got it into his head 
that the man was a spy, he wanted to shoot him at 
once. It took a good deal of persuasion on our part to 
prevent this bloodthirsty deed. “The Sayed told me to 
protect you. If I do not kill this man, the Sayed will 
surely kill me,” he said morosely. We comforted him 
by telling him to watch that the man did not escape, 
but not to hurt him, yet when Hassanein was asleep 
that afternoon, and I heard the click of a rifle lock, I 
rushed frantically to see that the man was safe. He, 
too, had come without any food. The improvidence of 
the race had begun to anger me. Should manna fall 
from heaven, I believe they would eat their fill and pick 
up none for the morrow! 

We broke the news to the retinue that we should have 
to leave the blacks at the nuggas to wait for the caravan 
and to hurry it up when it finally arrived, and ourselves 
go on to Aujela by forced marches. We told them we 
would start early and ride ten or eleven hours a day, pitch 


62 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


no tent to save labour, share our food evenly with them, 
but that they must expect to be very hungry for four 
or five days. There was a good deal of protest, because 
they looked with simple faith to the caravan and they 
could not realise that if we waited four days and it had 
not arrived, starvation would drive us back to Jedabia. 
The form of protest showed, however, how well things 
were going. They now looked upon us as their friends. 
The arrival of the spy had made a bond between us. 
“We knew that you were hurt by the coming of that 
man,” they said, “but you are safe with us. It is our 
honour, too.” We tried to explain the difficulty about 
food, and Mohammed suddenly showed the fine clay he 
was made of. “I have felt ashamed,” he said, “that 
we have taken your food for three days, that we have 
asked you for sugar when you have none. I would have 
liked to share my food with you, as is our habit, but we 
were ordered to come with you at the last moment. We 
asked if we might visit our homes. ‘No,’ we were told. 
‘The caravan will follow with all things needful.’ It 
is not our fault, but we feel it deeply that you are 
depriving yourselves for us.” 

This is the loyal spirit that lies at the heart of every 
Beduin. Greedy for food he may be and the stranger 
with gold is not safe with him, but once you are his friend 
he will never betray you. These men were beginning to 
realise our sympathy for their race, our love for their 
customs and country. They had eaten our bread and> 
salt. We had shared all we had with them and we had 
taken them wholly into our confidence. We were guests 
of their lord, the holy one, the blessed of Allah. We were 
friends of their blood and religion. The Italians should 
not get us back. They swore to protect us as their own 
families. We had won another fight. “We will find 
food somehow in the nuggas!” said Yusuf. “No Arab 


THE ESCAPE FROM JEDABIA 


63 


starves in the desert.” We showed them a simple letter 
of greeting from Sidi Idris. They almost prostrated 
themselves to kiss the sacred writing. This was the same 
ungrudging loyalty that we had witnessed among the 
humble Auwaghir whose tents we had visited between 
Soluk and Ghemines. Their lives belonged to the 
Sayed. Therefore they were at our disposal. Their 
courage and faith were undaunted because they were the 
essence of simplicity. 

Surely the glories of a race which can give its all so 
ungrudgingly cannot be entirely in the past. The great 
history of Omar, of Ibn Nebu Musa, of Harun-er-Rashid 
and Saladin may yet be repeated. There are leaders who 
understand the heart of their people, but perchance they 
only know that they have power, without knowing how 
they can use it. It has ever been the policy of European 
nations to break up the Arab races, to create discord 
among their princes, to induce their chiefs to oppose one 
another. Is it not a short-sighted policy in view of the 
widespread unrest in Europe to-day? Our Western 
empires and kingdoms are large enough. Concentration 
and not expansion should be our programme. In the 
days of Mohammed Ben Ali a caravan under his protec¬ 
tion could pass safely from Tripoli to Wadai. All the 
great caravan routes were open for commerce and trade. 
How many are open to-day? Strengthen the hand of 
the native ruler with all the prestige of European support 
and he will be responsible for the opening up of his 
country for the safe conduct of travellers, for the friendly 
intercourse that will allow grain and hides, dates and tea 
to cross the age-old desert routes! 


CHAPTER IV 


ACROSS THE DESERT WITH SHE-IB 
LL that day we sat inside the tent amidst blinding 



sand. It was in vain that we shut every curtain 


and flap. The whirling dust penetrated as if by 
magic. We abstained from lunch in order to save food, 
and the only break in the monotony of removing con¬ 
tinual layers of sand from faces and note-books was when 
a peg cracked under the strain and one side of the tent 
flew up with a scream of flapping canvas, tearing up 
half a dozen pegs with it. We used to go out half 
blinded by the force of the gibli and knock them in again 
and take the opportunity of scanning the distant rise for 
the prayed-for caravan. Once we counted eighteen 
camels coming over the brow, and hope rose high; but, 
alas! they were only grazing. 

“Allah will send the solution to the problem,” said 
Mohammed simply, and he was right, for, towards 
evening, when the wind had dropped considerably and 
we had gone down to the wadi to buy camel’s milk, 
which I loved, but which Hassanein found too bitter, a 
small caravan of eight camels laden with luggage for 
Jalo, accompanied by half a dozen Mojabras returning 
to their homes after a shopping expedition in Jedabia, 
came down the rise. The situation changed at once. 
These men brought much news from the “belad” 
(village) we had left four days before. They knew all 
about our caravan. “Inshallah! It will arrive in a day 
or two. When we left, the men were buying their 


64 



A HALT FOR THE NIGHT 



CAMP OF MOJ ABU A MERCHANTS AT BIR RASSAM 











ACROSS THE DESERT WITH SHE-IB 65 


sugar and their jerds. But how is it you have come so 
far? Your people expect you to be waiting just outside 
Jedabia. They said to us, Tf you meet them, treat 
them well for our sakes, and the honour that you do them 
will be as if you had done it to us/ ” We told them 
about the spy. “He is one of our tribe,” they said 
sadly. “It is a shame that he has set one foot outside 
the belad on this errand. When we return to Jedabia 
we will surely spit upon him. Send him to us now that 
we may take him on to Jalo with us!” We thought, 
however, that the man would probably be safer 
with us! 

It is a desert custom that when a caravan arrives at 
nightfall to find another encamped before it, the first 
arrivals give dinner to the late-comers. We were unable 
to do this because we had no food, so we could send only 
apologies and greetings. Just as we had finished our 
meagre supper of corned beef and rice, a messenger 
arrived from the hospitable Mojabras bearing two im¬ 
mense basins of barley grain cooked with native butter 
and pepper, with great cakes of hard sugar and actually 
a teapot. The joy with which we ate the savoury mess 
can hardly be described, and our retinue made relays of 
strong, bitter tea half-way into the night. There was 
much visiting between the encampment and a chorus of 
“Keif halak?” (How are you?) and “Taiyib” (Well) 
sounded constantly. 

If two caravans meet coming from Jalo and Jedabia 
respectively, the former exchanges dates for the latter’s 
tea and sugar. If any traveller reaches a camp at night 
he is freely given food and tea and a rug by the brush¬ 
wood fire. Desert hospitality is amazing. Food and 
drink are always offered. We were never allowed to buy 
camel’s milk. It was always given, for were we not 
nomads like the desert men themselves? One never 


66 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


passes a fire with two or three white-robed figures clus¬ 
tered round it without being asked to sit down with 
them by the one expressive w r ord “Fadhl!” It is 
customary to say ‘‘Keif halak?” at least half a dozen 
times to each individual, though the reply is always the 
same, “Taiyib.” 

That night, as we all sat round a fire with a cold 
wind freezing our backs, yet feeling happily satiated 
after our barley meal, the retinue became rhetorical in 
its expressions of fidelity. The caravan had told them 
that a motor had arrived from Zuetina the day after our 
flight, and the town had instantly jumped to the con¬ 
clusion that it was to take us back forcibly. We were 
assured that the whole sympathy of Jedabia was with 
us, that our opponents were very angry at our escape, 
but could do nothing because they themselves had recom¬ 
mended us to the Sayed. I very much doubted this latter 
statement and we determined to move on the following 
afternoon if the caravan did not arrive in the morning. 
We thought that we could get sufficient food for our men 
from the Mojabras and repay them at Jalo if they would 
not take money. I felt sorry for the spy. He evidently 
wished he had not meddled in the affair at all. Farraj 
astonished us by suddenly rising to his feet and, with 
hands held to heaven, calling Allah to witness that he 
would protect us to the last drop of his blood. “Not even 
a thorn shall enter your sides,” he chanted solemnly, and 
there was an awed hush after so mighty an oath. 

Naturally our spy escaped in the night. Our retinue 
were as unpractical as they were lazy. Therefore, when 
December 12 dawned, they were extremely averse to 
any talk of starting. We explained to them with infinite 
patience that in twenty-four hours our whereabouts, our 
plans, our intentions, our very thoughts would be known 
in Jedabia. With the faith of children they said, 


ACROSS THE DESERT WITH SHE-IB 67 

“The caravan will come to-day.” The ever-kindly 
Mojabras had sent over two more vast bowls of a floury 
paste, somewhat like macaroni, cooked in the same rancid 
butter, so, thoroughly gorged, the retinue were prepared 
to await placidly the will of Allah! We had packed up 
and hauled everything out of the tent by 7 a.m. At 
11 there were still incessant councils round one or other 
of the fires. The Mojabras were determined to come 
with us. “You are the guests of Sidi Idris,” they said. 
Once more the holy letter was produced and kissed. We 
had become used now to its magical effect. Apparently 
it would produce anything but haste! The strangers 
acknowledged, however, that they had not enough food 
for all our men, meaning, of course, that they could not 
hope to supply large quantities three times a day. We 
could not hope to make them ration it out in small 
portions, so we wanted to leave at least one of the blacks 
to await the caravan and either hurry its progress or 
send on a swift camel with provisions. There was instant 
mutiny at the suggestion. The two Farraj refused to 
leave us. “We have no authority over them,” said Mo¬ 
hammed without surprise. “Their commandant would 
whip them, but what can we do?” 

Further discussion seemed useless, so we went down 
to the wadi to buy dates from a caravan that had come 
from Kufara. It was an amusing instance of how news* 
is carried in the Sahara. Before the question of dates 
was raised at all we squatted solemnly in the sand 
opposite the merchants from the far-off oasis, and 
Mohammed submitted to a perfect inquisition on the state 
of affairs in Jedabia. Afterwards he propounded his 
list of questions—what was the price of silk, of wool, of 
grain, etc., in Kufara? What was the price of dates? 
“So much per ruba or so much per oka?” they quoted, 
and for dates, “There is no price. They are plentiful.” 


68 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


“Who did you meet on the way?” “What news of 
such and such a family?” “One of their slaves has 
run away,” or “he has married another wife,” and so 
on until all information was exhausted. 

We actually left our low ridge above the wadi at 
1.30, but we had ceased to worry. The fatalism of the 
East had begun to grip us. We decided to put our 
trust in Allah and join the caravan of She-ib and his 
kinsman, Musa She-ib, merchants from Jalo who had 
sometimes travelled to Wadai, a route that takes anything 
from forty-five to sixty days, with bales of cotton stuffs, 
to return with ostrich feathers, ivory, camels and hides 
for the markets of Kufara. We asked them how long it 
would take to reach Jalo, and they replied, “There is 
no time. If you walk quickly you may arrive the fifth 
day,” but evidently they had no intention of hurrying 
themselves. They were a delightful party of six men, 
with eight heavily laden camels and one or two foals 
clumsily trotting alongside. 

We made quite an imposing caravan as we struck the 
track a little to the east and the camels began to march 
together. It was headed by old She-ib, sitting upright 
on the top of great green boxes of merchandise, a rifle 
on his back, a huge revolver slung beside him in a scarlet 
holster, his ebony face half-covered, against the dust, in 
the folds of his white kufiya. Hassanein’s brilliant kufiya 
—orange, yellow and emerald—made a gorgeous flash of 
colour on another camel and I followed, huddled under 
the shrouding barracan, for I must not show my face to 
the strange caravan. Thus fate played a new card and 
decided that we should wander slowly south with the 
Mojabra merchants and learn yet another phase of 
Beduin life. 

Time forgetting and by time forgot, indifferent to 
the caravan of stores that might or might not be follow- 


ACROSS THE DESERT WITH SHE-IB 69 


ing, we drifted incredibly slowly along the vague track 
marked by occasional cairns of stones. The aspect of 
the country had slightly changed since we left the wadi. 
It became undulating, with a series of slight waves 
running from east to west, while the vegetation grew 
scantier and scantier, till finally only a few tufts of coarse 
grey bush a few inches high broke the wilderness of sand. 
At 3 p.m. the undulating country lay behind us, and we 
were on an absolutely flat plain. Two specks appeared 
in the distance to materialise into a couple of travellers 
on camels. They paused to ask our news and on hear¬ 
ing we were bound for Kufara they entrusted Yusuf with 
a few mejidies to be paid to somebody at our destination. 
If he did not get there himself, he was to hand the 
money on to another traveller. This transaction was 
evidently a usual one and roused no comment. 

She-ib decided to camp shortly after 3, for he 
observed a patch of slightly thicker grazing away to the 
right of the track. Ten minutes after the last camel 
had been barraked his men had made a wonderful 
semicircular zariba of the boxes and sacks, with its 
back to the wind, had spread rugs and blankets to form 
a most comfortable shelter, and were busy making strong 
Arab tea. It was done with infinite swiftness and deft¬ 
ness, while we were still struggling with the tent in a 
violent north wind. The previous day the gibli had 
blown with a fairly high temperature at midday. This 
morning the wind had been in the east, swinging round 
to the north in the afternoon, yet the temperature at noon 
had been nearly as high as on the previous day. Desert 
weather seems to be quite illogical. The ground was so 
hard that we‘ could not drive in our tent pegs, so we 
half buried the camel saddles in stones and tied the ropes 
to them. Then we were called to try our skill at a shoot¬ 
ing match with the Mojabras, who had set up a piece 


70 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


of wood at fifty yards. My neat revolvers caused interest 
and amusement when produced from under my huge 
hezaam, but they were scarcely appropriate. Mohammed 
won the match and was loudly cheered. We had begun 
to feel some affection for this tall, lean, hard-featured 
Beduin with his falcon’s eyes and rare smile. We felt 
that he might prove a loyal ally, whereas the plump 
Yusuf, with his round face and sleepy, narrow eyes, loose 
lips and glib tongue, only thought of getting home as 
soon as possible. 

Luckily for us the flight from Jedabia had been 
interpreted to mean a political mission, and almost before 
we were out of sight of the town the desert wireless 
proclaimed that we travelled on the business of Sidi Idris. 
After the first day it was painfully obvious to us that 
only some extraordinary intervention of fate would 
induce any one of our escort to brave the dangers of the 
route from Jedabia to Kufara, so we encouraged the 
belief in our mission by all means in our power. The 
Arab dearly loves a secret. Mystery is the breath of 
his nostrils. Our escape at midnight, the orders given 
to Yusuf and Mohammed at the last moment, our 
frantic desire for speed, the spy who brought a letter 
from Jedabia in twenty-four hours, the large caravan 
munificently fitted out by the lavish generosity of Sayed 
Rida, all spoke to him of an important secret, to be 
guarded with their lives and ours. We had ceased to 
be the Sayed’s travelling guests whose mad whim to visit 
the sacred city should be discouraged at all costs. We 
were rapidly becoming mysterious messengers bearing 
sacred orders from their lord! Soon we should all 
grumble together at the task that drove us forth in 
winter on such a journey, but we should be suffering 
for the work of Sidi Idris es-Senussi, and therefore for 
the will of Allah! 


ACROSS THE DESERT WITH SHE-IB 71 

December 13 we rose at 7.30 under the impression 
that She-ib’s caravan would take advantage of the cool 
morning to travel, but three hours later we were still 
drinking tea inside the comfortable semicircle of the 
merchant’s zariba. Beduin hospitality is always generous, 
but these people overwhelmed us with kindness. That 
morning they sent us a basket of nuts, followed by glasses 
of bitter tea. Hassanein went across to their encamp¬ 
ment to thank them and they insisted on his staying. 
I joined them later, and the best red blanket was spread 
for me beside She-ib. It is an erroneous impression in 
Europe that the veiled women of the East are ill-treated 
and over-worked. The Koran devotes half the third sura 
to man’s behaviour towards women. Ask the Syrian 
woman if she would lose her veil, and she will reply, 
“Not till the men are better educated,” but the Beduin 
woman only hides her face before strange men. With 
her own tribe she mingles freely, and the work is evenly 
shared. Often with the caravan I tried to hold a tent 
pole or knock in a peg and I was promptly told, “This 
is man’s work. Do not tire yourself, Sitt Khadija.” 
Many times when old She-ib saw me resting at midday 
he would say, “The Sitt Khadija is weary. Let us wait 
a little longer.” On the other hand, the Moslem woman 
is expected to do all the work within the tent. She 
should cook her menfolk’s meal and wash the dishes 
afterwards. Luckily, by this time our food was so reduced 
that I lost no prestige by my inability to cook more than 
damper bread, heavy and unleavened. 

Tea-drinking is a ceremony which may last anything 
from one hour to three. If one wishes to travel fast it 
can only be allowed at night, but the Mojabras had no 
desire to hurry, so we lingered over the glasses while 
their two servants and our blacks cooked relays of tea 
on hot ashes. They fill half the tea-pot with sugar, 


72 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


another quarter with tea, and then pour the water on 
top. They taste the sweet, strong beverage half a dozen 
times, pouring it from one tea-pot to another, adding 
water or re-boiling it till it suits them. Then it is drunk 
with as much noise as possible to show appreciation. 
When the host thinks it is time to finish the party, he 
adds mint to the tea-pot, and the guests take the last 
sweet-scented cup as a sign of departure. Meanwhile 
they have exchanged every form of gossip and told 
long, rambling tales with a flavour of the Arabian 
Nights. Their courtesy to one another is amazing, and 
it is an honest courtesy that expresses itself in deeds as 
well as words. While Yusuf and Mohammed rarely 
addressed each other without the respectful prefix of 
“Sidi” (my lord), they also warmly urged each other 
to ride the only available camel at midday heat. Once 
Mohammed was riding it, and he noticed Musa She-ib 
looked tired. “We share alike,” he said. “What is 
ours is yours,” and scrambling down he insisted on the 
Mojabra mounting. 

It was a very friendly caravan that crawled south by 
short stages. Our only troubles really were Yusuf’s 
laziness and the grumblings of the blacks, who shirked 
even the lightest work. On the 13th we started at 9.30 
and camped at 3.30, while the sun was yet hot, for we 
happened to have arrived at a patch of coarse, odourless 
grass for the camels. At noon the men had slipped 
away from the caravan one by one to prostrate them¬ 
selves with a murmured, “Bismillah arahman arahim.” 
Generally two of them marched a couple of hundred 
yards ahead with their rifles ready, but we saw nothing 
more exciting than a few distant gazelle. As soon as we 
had unloaded the camels we all said our evening prayers, 
the “Fagr” or fourth of the series. It still gave me 
much pain getting in and out of my yellow shoe, but 



HASS AXE IX BEY AXD MOJABRAS DRIXKIXG TEA 




FROCKS WATER IXG AT B1R RASSAM 















* 




V 































ACROSS THE DESERT WITH SHE-IB 73 


the fanaticism of the Senussi was a very strong spur to 
the observance of every Moslem duty. 

She-ib and his relations always insisted on helping us 
to put up the tent. There used to be a regular little 
fight as to who should hammer in the pegs, much to the 
delight of the lazy blacks. I remember that night was 
the most perfect we had yet spent in the desert, windless 
and calm, with a crescent moon and the strange trans¬ 
lucent blue that you sometimes get in the Sahara. 
Mournful, monotonous chants came from the friendly 
encampment beside us and the wide, white desert, un¬ 
broken by ridge or dune, spread all round us. 

We had mounted slowly and imperceptibly from the 
Wadi Farig (empty valley) to a low tableland with 
occasional ripples running east and west and a few 
scattered sandhills with square tops. Just before we 
reached Bir Rassam, the following day, the^ ripples 
became accentuated into ridges and the country looked 
almost volcanic, for a series of high, square hillocks 
appeared on our right with some sort of rock formation 
on top. 

We could easily have reached the wells on the evening 
of the 13th, but our friends had their own settled ideas 
about camping and nothing would change them. They 
wanted to spend the heat of the day at Rassam and 
water at their leisure, so we were wakened at 5 a.m. on 
the 14th, and were actually away by 6.15. It was a 
glorious morning, but, as usual, chilly. Hassanein walked 
with old She-ib, who promptly quoted the Arab proverb, 
“A man should not sleep on silk till he has walked on 
sand,” but I rolled myself in every available blanket on 
the back of my jealous camel, who divided his time 
between biting the rival males and amorous assaults on 
the females! 

Besides being cold, one had begun to feel extremely 


74 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


hungry! The preceding day the ration had been two 
sardines and a cup of coffee for breakfast, a handful of 
dates at noon and half a one-ration tin of meat at night. 
That morning there had been no time for food, but the 
kindly She-ib had brought me a delicious bowl of camel’s 
milk, still warm. I would not have exchanged it for the 
cellar of the Ritz! 

We had left the last vestige of fawny-yellow earth 
and grey scrub behind us and as the strange square 
hillocks came in sight we trod the white limestone that 
we had known in Jedabia. We looked right over the 
farther edge of the low tableland and dropped gently 
to a plain with the deep white sand of the southern 
deserts, tufted with great shrubs and bushes of sweet- 
scented feathery vegetation and clumps of low palm 
foliage, with here and there a solitary upright palm. 
There are three wells in the neighbourhood of Bir 
Rassam, perennial springs, two of which have brackish 
yet drinkable water, while the third, several kilometres 
farther south, has terribly salt water. 

As we approached the wells, about 9.15 a.m., streams 
of camels appeared from all directions. Mohammed 
gazed at them with loving eyes. “The Zouia are rich,” 
he said appreciatively; “look at the hundreds of their 
beasts!” All that morning a crowd of camels, number¬ 
ing several hundreds, pressed round the well, together 
with some sheep and goats, but we encamped under a 
mound of sand topped by a mass of palm scrub and in 
rare shelter I prepared our frugal meal. The previous 
night and that morning we had had no fuel for fire, so 
now it was a joy to make hot tea and I was about to 
imead my heavy damper when Mighrib, the most 
delightful of all the Mojabras, young and smiling, in his 
torn white shirt which showed muscular brown arms and 
chest, assured me that he could make a much better one. 


ACROSS THE DESERT WITH SHE-IB 75 

He took the dough from me and, after much pommelling 
and baking, produced a charred and blackened plate-like 
substance; but it was thinner than mine and crisper, so 
we ate it thankfully with dates and nuts. Then we rolled 
ourselves in jerds and slept till wakened by the postman 
from Kufara, who had heard at the well of our connexion 
with Sayed Rida. He was an old, old man with beard 
as white as his jerd, but he could accomplish the astound¬ 
ing feat of going several days without water, so about 
twice a year he travels on the Senussi’s government 
business across the Libyan desert with one fast camel and 
a couple of sacks of dates and grain! 

Hassanein and Mohammed went back to the wells, 
after the camels had been watered and the fanatis filled, 
to see if they could get milk and while there they were 
severely cross-questioned by two stern-faced Beduins as 
to whether we were going on Sayed Idris’s business. 
Was it in his interests? Was it by his actual orders? 
Had we letters? And so on. Hassanein asked them 
if they were sheikhs of tribes and when they replied in 
the negative he said he could not show them the sacred 
documents. Meanwhile, the Mojabra chief was being 
solemnly shaved by Ahmed under the shadow of a palm. 
Half-way through the proceeding he asked me for my 
small mirror and, evidently dissatisfied with his enthu¬ 
siastic but inexperienced barber, finished his toilet himself 
with a pair of scissors as large as shears. After that they 
all came and talked to me, and I unconsciously did good 
work by teasing Yusuf about his laziness and saying he 
was only fit for a town life. “I have left everything 
with the caravan,” he said. “So have we—seven big 
sacks full! See, I have but one tobh and one barracan, 
and both are dirty.” This seemed to be a new point of 
view for Yusuf, especially as the Mojabras backed me 
up. “We have seen that they share everything they 


76 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


have with you. What more do you want?” said She-ib. 
“Even now you are wearing the Sitt’s coat.” Our 
retinue had complained bitterly of cold one night at 
Wadi Farig, so we had lent them two fleece-lined 
waterproofs which we had hidden in our bedding and 
they wore them day and night, even in the fierce 
noon sun! 

We departed leisurely at 3.30 p.m. and trekked 
through blinding, white sand, soft and deep, till 8.30 
p.m.j but the last hour we went very slow, as the 
grey brush appeared again and the camels grazed as they 
walked. We passed a herd grazing and She-ib went to 
greet the owners, encamped in a zariba of piled luggage, 
and to drink strong tea. We camped under some huge 
grey bushes with a wonderfully sweet scent and ate the 
rest of Mighrib’s black damper, with camel’s milk and a 
half-ration of meat, while another marvellous sunset 
painted feathers of flame and rose below the silver sickle 
moon. 

We used to shut the tent flaps after our evening meal 
to write our diaries and make our simple route maps, 
for if we pulled out note-books and pencil in the daytime 
it caused great suspicion. We had made plans in 
England, while lunching in the oriental splendour of 
Claridge’s, to do a little survey work in Libya, but we 
had not counted with the fanaticism of the Senussi. It 
seems to me now that we were mad to imagine that a 
Christian could show his or her face beyond Jedabia, 
in a land where it is every man’s sacred duty to kill the 
Nasrani. True, the mental atmosphere had changed since 
the first day out, when, if we carelessly asked the name 
of any tribe or district, we were looked upon as spies. 
At our first camp I told one of the blacks to fetch me a 
camel, whereupon he turned to his fellow-soldier exclaim¬ 
ing, “Are we to be ordered about by a cursed Christian 


ACROSS THE DESERT WITH SHE-IB 77 


woman? One bullet and we will send her back to her 
Christian country!” 

After that their attitude had changed. “The ways 
of Allah are strange,” they said, “for she is in truth a 
Moslem.” Still, the general friendliness did not extend 
to instruments or diaries. “Why do you need a com¬ 
pass?” asked Yusuf. “We know the road as we know 
our own hearts.” We took the hint and hid our com¬ 
passes under the voluminous folds of our native dress, 
studying them only in secret. The barometer amused 
them because it showed what the weather was like, so 
the actual retinue did not mind its occasional presence 
outside our tent, but it had to be concealed from all 
visitors. A theodolite would have been an absolute 
impossibility. Anything that suggested map-making 
was abhorrent to our guides. “We carry the road in 
our heads,” they said. I dared not even write an 
ordinary diary in public unless I could pretend it was 
a letter! 

Gradually we drew them on to talk about routes and 
places with rather less suspicion, but for a long time it 
was a dangerous subject and, even when we had more or 
less won their confidence, we had to treat their replies 
concerning names and positions exceedingly casually. To 
have made an instant note of a name would have roused 
sharp suspicion. Before we could get real information 
from them we had to destroy their original idea that we 
were travelling for our own pleasure and laboriously 
build up, word by word, deed by deed, a wholly new 
situation—that we had been sent, much against our will, 
by Sayed Idris on a mission so secret and important that 
it justified our midnight flight and the hardships of an 
almost intolerable journey. 

December 15 saw us on our way by 7.30 a.m. after 
a troubled packing in the teeth of a sharp gale. The 


78 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 

camels ran round in circles and upset their loads and a 
little of our precious water dribbled out of the fanatis. 
Bir Rassam is the last good well on the way to Aujela. 
Three long waterless days lay before us and the blacks 
were horribly careless. We ourselves used only a quart 
of water each per day. Since we left Wadi Farig our 
daily ablution consisted merely of washing hands and face 
every evening in an inch of muddy water! After a week 
one got used to never washing, and by the time we 
reached Aujela we had forgotten even to feel dirty! It 
became a competition who could use least water and so 
prepare for the deadly Kufara route with its one well in 
twelve hard days. 

December 15 provided us with few incidents. We 
did a dreary seven hours’ riding with a cold south wind 
blowing straight in our faces. We wrapped our jerds 
and blankets round us and tried to pretend we were not 
hungry after a lunch of five malted milk tablets. We 
passed a camp of Mojabras who were resting for an hour 
at midday while their camels grazed and, as I hid my 
face in my barracan and urged on my camel, Hassanein 
went with She-ib and Mohammed to greet them. When 
he rejoined me twenty minutes later I asked him with 
primitive fierceness, “Did they give you tea?” before 
I realised to what ridiculous depths hunger drives one! 
He looked at me with wan blankness. “No luck,” he 
said grimly; “but they asked us to wait for them at 
sunset.” 

The one cheerful moment was when, about 2 p.m., I 
produced a thermos flask and offered each of She-ib’s 
caravan a mouthful of hot tea. “There is no fire,” said 
the old man. “We cannot stop to make one.” It was 
Hassanein’s greatest triumph. I had fought against 
bringing that huge flash. It was bulky, heavy and, of 
course, it had no case or strap. It was his pet possession, 


ACROSS THE DESERT WITH SHE-IB 79 

however, and though I firmly discarded it half a dozen 
times, it always reappeared. Now Musa She-ib drank 
from it, amazed. “But where is the fire?” he asked; 
and, lest we should be shot as magicians, we,instantly 
entered into intricate explanations as to the making of 
a thermos. 

We met but one traveller on that cold, dusty day. 
“Now for our newspaper,” said Hassanein. “It is 
rather a late edition.” But the man was devoid of news 
save that a caravan might possibly be starting from 
Jalo for Wadai within a week or two. As for our own 
caravan, the Mojabras, who proposed to join us that 
night, had made a quick journey from Jedabia, leaving 
on the morning of the 12th, three days after She-ib. 
They told us our men were still buying “necessities,” but 
proposed to start next day. From that moment I think 
we mutually decided against putting any faith in their 
arrival. The behaviour of the two blacks had made us 
realise the danger of being at the mercy of a dozen such 
creatures for thirteen days, beyond reach of any human 
aid. If the water ran short they would certainly steal 
ours. In order to be able to over-eat they would probably 
overload the camels. They would refuse to start early 
or ride hard. Consequently the perils of the waterless 
seven days, after which time the camels begin to get 
tired, would become insuperable. We began planning 
to leave Jalo before them, taking only Mohammed and 
Yusuf and a couple of reliable guides. 

The last hour of the day’s march is generally the 
most cheerful, for everybody is in a hurry to reach camp, 
and it is a curious fact that camels walk more quickly 
and straighter to the sound of singing. Therefore the 
blacks and She-ib’s drivers used to chant wild melodies 
of love and prowess till even my great blond beast forgot 
his amorous gurglings and kept his nose in a bee-line for 


80 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


the horizon. That particular day we had ridden due 
south across rolling sandy country without much vegeta¬ 
tion except where the sudden square hills and mounds 
appeared on our left at Bir Mareg, some 18 kilometres 
from Rassam. The well holds only salt, undrinkable 
water, but around it there is about a mile of rough scrub 
with large bushes of the scented furze which had per¬ 
fumed our sleep the preceding night. On the only maps 
I have seen a green wadi is marked running the whole 
way from Rassam to Aujela, but it exists only in the 
imagination of the chart-maker. In reality there is no 
trace of valley or of verdure. 

Across rolling white sand we rode till 3 p.m., under 
a sandy rock a few hundred yards from a square hill 
called Arida. We camped by the last patch of rare fuel. 
The south wind rose in the night and added more sand 
to ourselves and our surroundings. The tent pegs on one 
side blew up and we crawled out in murky darkness to 
knock them in again. 

December 16 saw us started by 7.30, for the Farraj 
had succeeded in upsetting one of the fanatis and old 
She-ib was wisely frightened about our water supply. 
Feeling that a certain amount of sympathy now existed 
between ourselves and our retinue, we tried the passo¬ 
meter for the first time that day. The nervous “naga” 
ridden by Hassanein objected strongly and, as she always 
progressed in circles, she was not of much use. My 
stately beast never altered his step except to bite one of 
the other animals and after a few furious stamps he 
submitted to the strap across his knee, but the labour of 
keeping him absolutely straight for eight hours on end 
was very trying. However, the instrument measured 
fairly accurately, and after an eight hours’ march it gave 
us 36 kilometres. 

There is no one track from Jedabia to Aujela. The 







SIIE-IBS CARAVAN OX THE MARCH BETWEEN WADI FARIG 
AND AUJELA 



OUR CARAVAN APPROACHING AUJELA 






ACROSS THE DESERT WITH SHE-IB 81 


distance as the crow flies is about 220 kilometres. There 
is a main route as far as Wadi Farig. Thereafter one 
may wander south anywhere on a stretch some ten miles 
broad. We travelled on the route which our friends con¬ 
sidered provided the best fuel and grass, but it was the 
least frequented and, therefore, the most dangerous. 
“No one comes by this track without fear of a battle,” 
said the delightful Mighrib, and hardly half an hour later 
a party of eight men, without camels, six blacks and two 
Arabs, appeared from the sand mounds. “Dersalaam! 
We are going to be attacked,” said She-ib with calm 
interest. Any party of men without camels is looked 
upon with suspicion in the desert. Thus travel the robber 
bands in order to be able to scatter quickly. “Some of 
them will come up and talk to us. Their friends will 
be hidden behind those mounds. They will fire into the 
air to attract our attention and then the people who are 
talking to us will attack us. If they kill us they will 
take the caravan.” The blacks cheered up at once. The 
prospect of a fight always stimulated them. Everybody 
pulled out a rifle, but evidently the display of force or 
the Sudanese intimidated the mysterious party, for they 
suddenly sheered off without any salutation and vanished 
as suddenly as they had appeared. 

It is curious the fear with which the Beduins regard 
the black slaves who are sent from the Sudan as boys 
of eight or ten and who are trained as soldiers by the 
Senussi family. They are more brutes than men. I 
have seen sheer murder in the eyes of the toothless 
Farraj when I refused him extra sugar, yet they are 
courageous and faithful to their masters. A good black 
slave like Ali, our beloved cook at Jedabia, is worth his 
weight in gold. There was much difference of character 
between the Farraj es. One had a square, bestial face with 
a few broken yellow teeth. He was a grumbler and 


82 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


infinitely lazy, shirking all work, stealing everything he 
could lay his hands on. The other was big, brutal and 
stupid with something of the nature of a kindly bulldog. 
He would occasionally return us dates or flour, saying, 
“We have enough. Why do you not eat yourselves?” 
We thought he might be turned into a good servant 
eventually, for he did not mind cooking and washing up. 
The point of view of both was that they were soldiers and 
not servants. They were prepared to fight, but not to 
work. As a matter of fact a caravan guarded by blacks 
is rarely attacked, as the Beduins know it will generally 
be defended to the last inch. 

When first the rumour spread through Jedabia that 
a rich woman was travelling into the interior and a guard 
of sorts became necessary, Sayed Rida instantly offered 
some of his soldier slaves. Not till after we left the little 
mud belad on the edge of the world did we grasp all the 
threads of the situation we left behind. It had been a 
cunning woof of plot and counter-plot from the moment 
when the aged ekhwan, Haji Fetater, had vowed on the 
“Fatha” to take the Englishwoman safely to the Holy 
Oasis, to the night of our desperate flight without other 
guard than Mohammed and Yusuf. From the very day 
we first spoke tentatively of our journey among the 
Ulema of Jedabia, one ekhwan, fanatical and terror- 
stricken, had been strongly opposed to it. He success¬ 
fully dissuaded Haji Fetater from accompanying us. 
“You are too old,” he said. “You will die on the road. 
Where is your dignity? Is this travelling with a Nasrani 
to be your last action on earth? Heaven forbid!” As 
the ancient man was over eighty we were not sorry to 
hear of his change of front. 

Another ekhwan was suggested, but as he asked for 
forty men to protect us, among whom only ten were to 
be blacks, our suspicions were aroused and we refused his 


ACROSS THE DESERT WITH SHE-IB 83 


company. We learned afterwards that, believing the 
bazaar rumour about our wealth, he had planned to kill 
us in the desert, seize our money and return sorrowfully, 
saying that a vast force of Tebu spearmen had attacked 
us, that he had defended us gallantly, but that we and 
all the blacks had been killed. This because he knew that 
the Sudanese would fulfil the orders given by their master 
the Sayed and protect us to the last. There is always 
faint friction between these black warrior slaves and the 
Arabs. They could never combine. For this reason the 
crafty ekhwan decided that his force must be large 
enough to murder the soldiers as well as us. The pro¬ 
portion of Beduin to Sudanese shows his high opinion 
of the latter’s value. Their ruthlessness is encouraged 
by every means, even by brutal punishment. If a soldier 
disobeys an order he is flogged or his hand is cut off! 

December 16 was enlivened by Mohammed’s marriage 
prospects. One Omar, owner of two or three camels, a 
one-eyed creature of hideous and ferocious aspect, was 
travelling with She-ib’s caravan. He was reputed to have 
a very beautiful sister. Mohammed was thrilled. He 
made discreet inquiries and finally offered to marry the 
girl on his return journey. Mohammed was a big man 
in the eyes of the Beduin. He enjoyed the confidence 
of the Sayed and, moreover, he was tall and straight and 
clean of limb, a fine lean Arab with pride of race and 
tradition written all over him. Omar accepted the suitor 
at once and three camels were agreed upon as the dowry 
to be paid by the bridegroom to the bride’s father. 
Thereafter everyone made plans for marrying, mostly for 
the third and fourth time. Hassanein heard there were 
slaves to be bought at Kufara and he instantly decided 
to add a beautiful one to his possessions when we reached 
our far-off goal. 

There was one member of the caravan who took no 


84 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


part in the plans. For five days he had plodded along 
with the party, singing and talking cheerfully, doing his 
share of the work, and we never guessed that he was 
different from the rest till Mohammed, in his excess of 
matrimonial enthusiasm, let go the camel he was leading 
and called out, “Ya Amma! Xmsikhu!’ , (Thou blind 
one! Catch him!) Unfalteringly the sightless boy 
caught the beast. It was most extraordinary. There¬ 
after X watched him carefully. I saw him driving camels 
in the right direction. He measured distance much 
better than the others. He was more accurate in his 
judgment of time. He reminded me of the famous 
mediaeval Arabian Bashar, the blind poet of Aleppo, who, 
arriving in a certain city, was told to bend his head in 
one of the streets as a beam was stretched across it from 
one house to another. Ten years later he rode into the 
same town, and his companions were surprised because 
he bowed low in the middle of an empty road. “Is the 
beam still here?” he asked. 

The Beduins have no idea of distance. “How many 
hours is it to Aujela?” one asked. “There are no 
hours in the desert,” they replied. “We do not know 
them.” “Are there days in the desert?” “Yes, there 
are days. If you walk quickly it is one thing. If you 
do not let yourself out, it is another thing.” The 
difficulty in measuring by day is that, except on the 
big caravan routes, each man’s estimate of distance varies 
according to his energy. The whole life of a Beduin is 
reduced to the simplest possible effect. He uses very 
few words. The same verb has a dozen meanings. For 
instance, “Shil” means anything from “take away, 
pick up, carry, put on, throw away, to pack, unpack, 
drop, lose,” etc. “Akkal” should mean to eat food, but 
when two camels fought hideously Mohammed said, 
“They are eating each other.” Desert Arabs have no 


ACROSS THE DESERT WITH SHE-IB 85 


names for plants or flowers that they see each day. I 
asked about a huge, feathery tree something like a Coro¬ 
mandel which first made its appearance at Sawami and 
I was told, “It has no name. It is for making houses 
and firewood.” 

At 3.30 p.m. we were still more than a day’s march 
from Aujela and our water was running out owing to 
the carelessness of the blacks. Grave colloquy followed. 
We were relieved to see that even the lazy Yusuf grasped 
the seriousness of the situation. We had two single-ration 
tins left and about two pounds of flour and one pound of 
macaroni. It was decided that we should camp for a 
couple of hours, in order to rest after our three hours’ 
riding, and then push on by starlight. We gave half the 
food to our retinue with the last morsels of sugar and 
made ourselves coffee on a tiny fire in a hole scooped in 
the ground. Earlier in the day we had collected wood 
from the last patch of scrub that we passed and loaded 
it on one of the camels. We hated opening the last tin, 
but we knew that we must keep the cereals for the men’s 
breakfast next day. We had had nothing to eat all day 
except a few dates and a small bowl of camel’s milk 
which the adorable She-ib gave me at sunrise. I shall 
always remember the dear old man’s twisted smile. 
“When you are happy I am happy,” he said. “For 
the honour of the Sayed we would carry you on our 
heads!” Luckily it was a glorious night. At 5 p.m. 
we said our sunset prayers and to the usual formalities I 
added a very passionate supplication that we might reach 
Aujela on the morrow. I should never have believed it 
possible for our indolent retinue to have collected so 
much energy. As the evening star rose red above the 
horizon the camels were loaded and at 5.30 we set off 
under a crescent moon in a vivid starry sky. A caravan 
always marches better at night. The camels cannot see 


86 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


to graze. It is cold and the men step out briskly, singing 
continual wild songs and urging on their beasts by strange 
shouts and yells. “Thou beautiful one, walk on!” 
“Let yourself out, for soon you will have rest!” “Be 
patient, thou strong heart, do not stumble!” or else 
a monotonous, repetitive chorus, “Shey latif! Shey 
latif!” (A pleasant thing), “Ma salaam!” If one 
person fall silent for more than a minute he is urged 
by name to let his voice be heard. So in ever-increasing 
cold, to the accompaniment of chants and shouts, we 
marched for three and a half hours, by which time She-ib 
considered it was safe to camp, for we were within a day’s 
journey of Aujela. 

A few sandy mounds broke the surface of the vast 
plain. In a white starlight, clear and cold, with the 
rising south wind that is the bane of the desert, we laid 
our flea-bags on the lee side of the largest hillock and 
crept into them without undressing. We tried to put 
the flaps over our heads, but the sand, as usual, covered 
everything and we ate grit mingled with dates for 
breakfast. We meant to start before the dawn, but the 
camels had strayed far in search of scarce grass. When 
collected, they displayed a fiendish ingenuity in throwing 
their loads and tangling themselves up in every possible 
strap. The wind was bitterly cold and my barracan was 
in its most irritating mood when it wrapped itself round 
everything but me! The Farrajes would not walk 
because they were cold. The gibli blinded the camels 
and they swung round in circles. Even Hassanein was 
not feeling energetic on six tablets of malted milk. In 
the middle of the frozen muddle I suddenly lost my 
temper, saying, “I will show you how to walk.” I 
dropped from my camel and, throwing my barracan over 
my arm, set off with great strides in a southern direction. 
The action may have stimulated the caravan into move- 


ACROSS THE DESERT WITH SHE-IB 87 


ment, but it certainly undid nearly a week’s work. For 
twenty minutes, as they followed my racing steps, Omar 
and Mighrib discussed Christians and their ways. 
“These Feranji women walk well until they get fat and 
they cannot move,” they said. Hassanein changed the 
conversation two or three times, but it always came back 
to the difference between the Nasrani and the Moslem. 

Old She-ib had walked on and I found him waiting 
on the top of a slight rise from where the beginning 
of the longed-for oasis showed a faint blur of green 
surrounded by a mist of mirage. “There is Bir Msus,” 
he said. “You will have eggs and bread and milk 
to-night.” “I think I want a tailor even more,” I said 
ruefully, regarding my torn white trousers, rent at ankle 
and knee. “These must be mended.” “I think new ones 
would be better!” said She-ib diffidently. At 10 a.m. 
we saw the dark line of Msus in the distapce, but not 
till midday did we draw level with it, trekking steadily 
south over a flat, sandy plain with no sign of wadi. As 
there is only a well as Msus and no village, we left it 
to the east and went straight on towards Aujela, which 
lies at the south-west end of an S-like wadi, whose other 
extremity is represented by Msus. At 12.30 we breasted 
a slight swell, and below us lay the wide green wadi 
full of coarse grey shrub with a mass of palms on the 
farther side. “Hamdulillah!” exclaimed the devout 
Mohammed, and slipped off his camel for the noon-day 
prayers. 


CHAPTER V 


TRIUMPHANT ARRIVAL AT JALO 

W E crossed the wadi at 12.30, our faces stinging 
and burning in the cruel wind. The air was full 
of sand and the heat was excessive. The body 
of the long winding oasis is composed merely of palm 
gardens, each with its separate well or wells, known as 
Sawani, but the village of Aujela lies in the farthest 
western curl. In Sawani there are only a few broken- 
down buildings with crumbling walls, where perhaps a 
tattered blue tobh shows for an instant beside huge 
feathery foliaged trees with coarse-grained bark, some¬ 
thing between a spruce and a mimosa, but, of course, 
nameless. 

For three hours we plodded south-west along the line 
of Sawani’s palms. An ancient square tower appeared 
on a sand-hill to our left—the morabit of Sidi Saleh— 
but we left it behind us before the top of another long 
swelling rise brought the longed-for Aujela into view. 
The sun was blurred behind the flying sand, but we gazed 
eagerly at the mass of palms broken only by the low white 
dunes which stretched south for nearly a mile. At the 
farther end lay the clustered mud houses, all heaped 
together under the shadow of the palms, with here and 
there a square of small clay cupolas on the roof of a 
mosque. It was very different from the isolated houses 
of Jedabia, widely scattered over a white sandstone 
plain. Aujela gives a first impression of a ruined town, 
because of its small roofless mud courts, its irregular 

88 


TRIUMPHANT ARRIVAL AT JALO 89 


doorways and unfinished walls; but it is exceedingly 
picturesque seen against a red setting sun. 

We camped just before four in a hollow beyond the 
last fence made of plaited palm leaves. We were so 
hungry that we could hardly wait to put up our tent. 
Visions of milk and eggs and fresh crisp “hubz” danced 
before our eyes. We sent the fat Yusuf to inquire. 
Meanwhile, Omar had departed to his home in the town, 
to return a little later with a basket of fine dates. It was 
a resplendent being who found us flat on our camp beds, 
too tired to care any more about food. We had discovered 
a small stick of chocolate in a knapsack. Hassanein 
wanted me to eat the whole of it, but the desert teaches 
only two laws. The European code of morals disappears 
altogether. One becomes a simple savage being who may 
commit most crimes with impunity. In opposition, how¬ 
ever, one gradually realises that two or three actions, 
considered natural and justifiable in London, are unfor¬ 
givable sins in the Sahara. The laws all true wanderers 
obey are these: “Thou shalt not eat nor drink more than 
thy share,” “Thou shalt not he about the places thou 
hast visited or the distances thou hast traversed.” 

Omar had changed his dirty, torn white chemise, with 
his ragged jerd, for a blue, braided jubba and a new 
striped jerd. We thanked him earnestly for the dates 
and listened indifferently to the stern fact that absolutely 
nothing could be bought in Aujela. Doubtless, as we 
were the Sayed’s guests, he said, the important people 
of the town would send us gifts of food on the morrow, 
but for the moment, short of begging, nothing could 
be done. It was beneath our dignity as important 
Egyptians travelling on the Sayed’s business to explain 
the state of our commissariat, so we made up our minds 
to a supper of milk tablets and dates. At the last 
moment, however, one of our guardian angels, Musa 


90 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 

She-ib, appeared smiling, with his scarlet mandil full of 
fresh eggs! Our joy was unspeakable. I don’t know 
how many we ate. I remember kneeling in the sand for 
ages under a calm, starlit sky, half blinded by the smoke 
of a brushwood fire, poaching those blessed eggs one by 
one. “I like your particular sauce,” said Hassanein. 
“I shall miss the taste of sand in Cairo!” 

We managed to wash a little afterwards, the joy of 
which was diluted by the fact that we were suffering from 
a violent rash all over us. We politely called it heat, 
but I think it was dirt! Just as we had finished our 
eggs, Mohammed came with excitement to tell us that 
the sheikh of the zawia, Abdul Kasim, with the ekhwan 
and the important people of the belad, were coming to 
visit us, as they had heard we had letters from Sayed 
Rida. We had no clothes to wear. We could not even 
offer them the usual sweet tea. She-ib came to the rescue, 
as usual, and it was agreed that the meeting should take 
place in his tent. Hassanein was hurriedly rigged up in 
my beautiful silk jerd, with an hereditary brocaded white 
kufiya which he had brought from Egypt on his head, 
the gorgeous one the generous Sayed had given me 
wound gracefully round his neck. The meeting was most 
impressive. The dignified sheikhs sat round the narrow 
tent on dyed camel’s-hair rugs, their rifles stacked against 
the centre pole. With the utmost solemnity the letters 
of Sayed Idris and Sayed Rida were read. With one 
voice the ekhwan murmured: “The orders of the Sayed 
are upon our heads.” 

Then details were discussed. The matter of distance 
was again very difficult. “As far as a man may go on 
one girba,” is a favourite expression. A “girba” is a 
dried goat-skin used for carrying water. It holds from 
four to seven gallons. The Reduins say a man may travel 
on a small one for five or six days in winter and for 


TRIUMPHANT ARRIVAL AT JALO 91 


three in summer. After much argument we were told 
that it was actually thirteen days from Jalo to Kufara 
by the direct caravan route which goes on to Wadai. 
There are two wells, one at Buttafal, a day’s march from 
Jalo, and another at Zieghen, seven days farther on. 
This well, which stands alone in the desert, is wrongly 
marked as an oasis, Sirhen, on the map. There is 
another so-called route from Jalo to Kufara, that chosen 
by Rohlfs. It runs in a more westerly direction to the 
oasis of Taiserbo, erroneously supposed to be one of the 
Kufara group. This oasis contains several villages, the 
biggest being Kseba, Mabus, el Kasr and el Wadi, 
inhabited by Zouias and Tebus, the latter being the 
original dwellers in Kufara, from which they have been 
gradually driven by the conquering Senussi. Beyond 
Taiserbo there are various savage tribal bands, who 
delight in sacking caravans and murdering their escorts. 
They are sworn foes to the merchant and Zieghen is, 
occasionally, a dangerous halting place, because the Tebus 
sweep east from their Ribiana stronghold, or the lawless 
Zouias from Buseima fall upon the caravan and have 
vanished into the desert before the news has reached 
Kufara. From Taiserbo a six or seven days’ route runs 
via Buseima to Kufara, but, besides the fear of attack, 
it is dangerous owing to sand dunes. 

It is also possible to go direct from Jalo to Buseima, 
a route unmarked on our map. One passes through the 
“hatia” between Zieghen and Taiserbo, in the bed of 
which there is water, and sees the dark strange mountain 
two days before one reaches the oasis in its shadow. 
Buseima always appealed to me fatally because of its 
lovely black mountain and its lake! A lake in a Libyan 
desert! Surely that is sufficient to make up for any 
number of robbers! I tried hard to persuade Abdullah 
to ignore Taiserbo, apparently much akin to any othe?* 


92 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


flat desert oasis, and go straight to the country of dark 
mountains, but about this he was adamant. He would 
not risk this dangerous route and so we each privately 
made up our minds to outwit the other. He would take 
me to Taiserbo with the secret intention of then going 
to Zieghen and by the main caravan route to Kufara. I 
agreed to the Taiserbo route, but with the equally firm 
determination of continuing to our goal by way of 
Buseima. 

Two other possible ways to the sacred city were 
mentioned. One due south from Jaghabub, and one 
west from Farafra in Egypt, but both necessitated twelve 
or thirteen days without water. Nobody seemed to know 
much about the latter, but the casualties on the former 
had been appalling. The last Arab who attempted it 
had died on the way because his water went bad. Sayed 
Ahmed, traversing it with an army, had been forced to 
leave his luggage, stores and horses behind. Another 
party had lost their way and, after half their number 
had died, the remainder arrived at Siwa by mistake. 
“The guides lost their heads,” said Abdul Kasim. 
“One mistake is sufficient and you must die!” We 
were very anxious to return by this route, but they all 
dissuaded us. “Return to Jalo,” they said. “It is only 
seven days from there to Jaghabub, but it is all without 
water. The wells were closed in the War.” 

We asked more definitely about the position of 
Kufara. Five days from Zieghen and seven from Tai¬ 
serbo, the oasis generally called Kebabo is really Kufara. 
It is not one of a group. It lies entirely alone, and it 
contains five villages. 

All this was told by grey-bearded sheikhs by the 
light of two guttering candles in She-ib’s humble tent. 
The atmosphere was very friendly. They sympathised 
and wanted to help. “Only good can come out of your 


TRIUMPHANT ARRIVAL AT JALO 93 


journey,” they said. “You have the Sayed’s blessing. 
Therefore, your coming is an honour to us. Stay with 
us a day and let us see you again.” The air was full of 
warm enthusiasm and we felt we were among friends. 

In the morning, of course, it had all changed. It 
is difficult in Europe to understand the mentality of these 
children of nature. They are simple and emotional. 
Such a little way below their impulsive kindness and 
generosity lies the almost maniacal fanaticism of their 
tradition. We were playing a difficult part and the 
threads were apt to get complicated. We had to pretend 
to be poor for fear of attack by robber bands, yet we 
had to be able to bribe when necessary. I had to be a 
Moslem woman, yet I had to talk to ekhwan and sheikhs. 
We had to be important Egyptians to be worth protect¬ 
ing, yet we had no clothes or stores. We were travelling 
on a secret mission for the Sayed, yet we wanted to go 
to places where there could be no chance of work. It 
was no wonder that suspicion constantly followed us. 
Tales of a Christian woman and her secretary came from 
Jedabia. It was possible that they would cling to us 
all the way. 

Apparently a morose Beduin had come to She-ib’s 
tent the previous night and protested violently against 
the arrival of these strangers from Egypt. “They are 
not of us,” he said. “We must put them through the 
usual searching questions. Then we shall know who they 
are and what is their business.” “They have letters 
from the Sayed. Is that not enough for you?” said our 
friend. “They must learn that it is difficult to travel 
in this country,” insisted the Beduin. “No strangers 
may come here.” Apparently one of the important 
people of the town was of like opinion, for next day the 
ekhwan were divided into two camps. One party was 
for literally obeying the gracious letter of Sayed Rida 


94 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 

and giving a feast in our honour. The other, led by an 
unruly Arab, head of a section of the Zouia tribe, who 
always made a habit of opposing the Sayed’s wishes, 
wanted to ignore us. The result was a compromise. 
They showed us no hospitality, but they met in the zawia 
in the afternoon and received us with friendliness. They 
signed their names to a curious document stating that, 
in accordance with the Sayed’s order, they had hospitably 
received Hassanein Bey and the Sitt Khadija, and I think 
they were ashamed as they did so, for one, Ahmed 
Effendi, who came from Jalo to collect the Government 
taxes, said boldly, “I will sign that when I meet you 
in my town in a few days.” We learned afterwards that 
he had made a loyal speech in the morning, saying that 
they must all do honour to the Sayed’s guests, and the 
formal reception in the zawia was probably due to him. 

There are between thirty and forty ekhwan in 
Aujela. The sheikh of the zawia is Abdul Kasim. The 
zawia stands on a low rise in the centre of the town. 
It is a square mud building with heavily barred windows, 
looking more like a fortress than a college. Below are 
gardens of bisset and onions with a few pumpkins. 
Barley is grown under the belad’s broken walls, and in 
broad shallow depressions one sees rows of sand bricks 
baking in the sun. In the morning we wandered through 
the town, followed by a crowd of amazed children who 
had probably never seen a stranger before. Women 
peeped at us from low doorways. They were muffled 
in folds of long indigo tobhs which were delightful in 
the brilliant sunshine. Occasionally one made a vivid 
splash of colour in orange or scarlet. They wore gold 
ear-rings and all had tattoo marks on forehead and chin. 
Most of the people of Aujela speak a dialect similar to 
that of the Tuaregs and of some of the Siwa people, but 
it is not understood in Jalo. 


TRIUMPHANT ARRIVAL AT JALO 95 

We went through the narrow winding paths bordered 
hy high mud walls, with here and there a palm drooping 
over a grey feathery bush, till we came to the biggest 
mosque, with its square roof covered with clay cupolas. 
Here we met some of the ekhwan, who greeted us kindly 
and took us to the zawia to see the qubba of Abdullahi 
Sahabi, the supposed clerk of Mohammed, who is buried 
there. By a narrow passage one passes into a square 
sandy court, with a narrow roof running along three sides, 
under which the ekhwan sit on mats. A door leads into 
a further smaller court, and from there one passes through 
a carpeted antechamber into the mosque. The tomb 
stands in the centre, covered with gaudy cotton stuff, and 
the walls are hung with cheap mirrors and ostrich eggs, 
the latter the gift of pilgrims from Wadai. We walked 
round the tomb, chanting the Koran, after which we 
kissed it and solemnly repeated the “Fatha.” The 
ekhwan spend whole days reading and studying the 
Koran round this tomb. 

We asked them about Rohlfs’ caravan, but they knew 
nothing except that Mannismann had been there before 
he started on his doomed journey west, having already 
signed his death-warrant by writing that he did so at his 
own risk. They told us the zawia had been founded by 
Mohammed el Mahdi in 1872. Near by is the old Turkish 
Kasr, residence of the Ottoman “kaimakaan,” now used 
as an office by the clerks of the Senussi Government. 

We had just finished a mighty lunch suddenly pro¬ 
vided by the generous Omar, masses of hot flat “hubz,” 
eggs and a chicken cooked in a bowl of savoury juice 
and red pepper, and were trying to cool our smarting 
mouths and watering eyes after burning “fil-fil,” when 
the great event of many days happened simply and 
unexpectedly. We had searched the far horizon for so 
many weary hours. We had magnified so many grazing 


96 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 

herds into our longed-for caravan that when Yusuf, 
standing on the rise above us, said, “There is a caravan 
coming,” we took no notice. We had eaten our first 
good meal for eleven days. Our souls were full of 
gratitude to Omar and our only worry was how we could 
reward him for his generosity. (In parenthesis it may 
be said that the only thing he coveted was some imaginary 
scent he had smelled on me. We traced it eventually 
to some Coti face powder which I was carefully treasuring 
against my arrival in Cairo and he departed happily 
with a quarter of the box.) When, however, Yusuf 
raced down the hill screaming, “Our caravan, Ham- 
dulillah! Our caravan at last!” lethargy departed and 
we all rushed up the rise with more speed than dignity. 

It was quite true. Twelve camels and a dozen men 
were within a hundred yards of us. First came a stately 
figure in white burnus, Abdullah, a famous guide, who 
knew all the Libyan routes, of whom the Beduins said, 
“He has a great heart,” and next the neat, brisk little 
commandant, with his thin, humorous face and quiet, dry 
manner, the ebony Abdul Rahim. He was followed by 
a sergeant, Moraj a, whose home was in Kufara, and six 
men. Somewhere in the background lurked a cook, 
but we did not see him that evening, for he was imme¬ 
diately sent to prepare a banquet for our friends the 
She-ibs. After the first rush of joy, in which every¬ 
one shook everyone else’s hand a score of times, and 
“Mabsut” and “Taiyib” and “Hamdulillah!” filled 
the air, we watched the barraking of the camels with 
blank amazement. Used to the indolence of the two 
Farrajes, we could hardly believe our eyes when, literally 
in five minutes, under the shrewd eyes of Abdul Rahim, 
the camels were freed, the luggage and rifles stacked, 
and the men rapidly putting up the tents. We could 
only rub our eyes and gasp, while my eyes wandered 



THE MOSQUE AT AUJELA, WHERE IS BURIED TIIE CLERK 
OF THE PROPHET MOHAMMED 



DESERT WELL AT JAI.O 





TRIUMPHANT ARRIVAL AT JALO 97 


over the baggage in search of the sacks which had been 
mysteriously taken from our Jedabia dwelling at dead 
of night. I recognised them one by one and peace visited 
my soul, even though, when I looked down, I saw the 
striped legs of my pyjama trousers appearing beneath my 
red tobh, for the ill-used cotton pantaloons had given way 
altogether the previous evening. 

We asked for news of Jedabia. “They say in the 
suq that you escaped in an aeroplane sent by Allah,” 
said Abdullah gravely, but Abdul Rahim smiled his wise 
little smile. “They asked me where I was going with 
my big caravan,” he said, “and I told them I was 
travelling to punish some Beduins who had not paid their 
taxes to the Sayed.” We learned through a letter from 
our ebony confidant that it was the second messenger 
who had discovered us by the Wadi Farig. The first had 
searched in vain and returned without news. The ekhwan 
and the party who had opposed our going were furious 
at our escape, which had been quite unsuspected. So 
apparently were certain robber bands upon the road, for 
near Bir Rassam the caravan, marching day and night 
to overtake us (it had done the 220 kilometres in four 
and a half days), were accosted by some armed Beduins 
who asked where they were going, while two or three 
others who gathered in the vicinity said, “Where is 
the rich Nasrani woman who is going to travel south 
with large stores of food?” “I know nothing about 
her,” said Abdul Rahim. “There is no woman with us, 
but if you want to fight us we shall be delighted!” The 
disappointed Arabs retired hastily. 

We did not go to bed without further evidence of the 
Sayed’s generosity. A huge sack of dates was brought 
to my tent. “From Sayed Rida’s gardens. We received 
a message to give them to you.” 

There was much “fadhling” in the various tents that 


98 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


night, exchanging congratulations and good wishes. The 
She-ibs and our Beduins were feasting in one and the 
soldiers in a second. Several little fires burned merrily. 
We went from one to another, making coffee from our 
newly arrived stores in true Arab fashion, tasting it and 
pouring it back into the pot if it were not sweet enough. 
Then we went up on to the rise above the sleeping town, 
and talked about all that we had done, which was so little 
in comparison with what remained to be done. Yet we 
had won the first trick in the game and we felt we now 
had a fighting chance of success! But even while peace 
enveloped us and the calm of the desert might impregnate 
our souls, the first seed of a strife that was very nearly to 
wreck all our plans was being sown in the camp below. 
The blacks had got the idea firmly fixed in their heads 
that they were to guard us. They posted a sentinel. 
Musa She-ib, returning late, was challenged as he stood 
beside his bales. “I am the owner of the tent,” he 
replied. “Then go inside or go away altogether!” came 
the order. Both ruffled plumages had to be smoothed 
down in the morning. The soldier was only doing his 
duty, but the She-ib’s caravan had rescued us from defeat 
or starvation! 

We started at 9.30 a.m. on December 19 for the six 
hours’ ride to Jalo over a flat country of fine gravel, 
brownish-yellow, without a speck of vegetation, but it was 
a divided party. The blacks, always lazy when there was 
no necessity for a spurt, rode the camels, perching pre¬ 
cariously above sacks and bales. Yusuf was furious, 
chiefly because he wanted to ride himself. “The camels 
will never reach Kufara if they are ridden,” he said. “We 
shall all die on the way. There will be a fight and we 
will kill these black slaves.” He went away to join 
Mohammed, and the two kept away from the caravan 
the whole day. Abdullah, the most famous tracker in 


TRIUMPHANT ARRIVAL AT JALO 99 


Libya, who had recovered four of She-ib’s camels which 
had strayed the previous night, following their footprints 
among many thousands on the soft sand, led the caravan. 
I kept the compass on him for an hour and he did not 
vary his direction by one point. We made an absolutely 
straight line between the two oases. At 11.30 a.m. we 
saw a blot of palms on the horizon—Sharruf, the northern 
end of the big oasis. Two hours later we entered the 
wide semicircle, stretching south-south-east. The palms 
were thickly clustered at the Sharruf end. A thinner belt 
swept round to another cluster at Manshia. 

She-ib got off his camel and started walking briskly. 
Mighrib smiled. “The feisha,” he said. “It is the 
feisha.” When a man goes on a journey his wife some¬ 
times places a hollow gourd or pot in a certain position 
on the house-top so that it catches the wind. As long 
as it thrums with the sound of the breeze her husband’s 
heart will throb for her and he will return to her as 
quickly as possible. 

At 2.30 we entered the thin belt in the middle. Here 
the palms were dotted over thick white sand rolling up 
to low dunes. There was no sign of a belad, though a 
thousand camel tracks went in the same direction. A 
chill wind had risen, so I tried to go to sleep behind my 
shrouding barracan. When I looked out an hour later 
the scattered palms had grown rarer and we had swung 
round a broad dune, so that we faced another rise on 
which stood a formidable row of walled buildings. The 
desert cities of Libya each have their own special 
character. 

There are two separate villages at Jalo—El Erg and 
Lebba. The former looks like a fortress at first sight. 
Its long, solid mud houses with their strong-walled courts 
line the brow of the rise. Behind are the quaint curly 
streets, the mysterious low arches, the huddled dwellings 


100 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


of sun-baked bricks; but as we drove our camels upwards 
we saw only the bigger houses, with scattered groups of 
women and children wrapped in black and indigo robes. 
To the left of the buildings stretched what appeared to 
be a long, low, white wall, solid and even, which con¬ 
tinued. indefinitely. Mohammed, seeing it, rushed for¬ 
ward excitedly. “It is a royal reception in your honour,” 
he shouted. “En nahs tayibin hena. Ana Mabsut! Oh, 
they are good people here! I am happy! They love 
the Sayed! They wish to honour him and his guests!” 

Bewildered, I looked again at the long, white wall. 
It was a solid mass of white-clad Arabs. Line upon line 
of Beduins stretched in rigid order from the corner of 
the last house along the whole length of the rise, at the 
end of which the splendid wall of humanity dwindled 
away into groups of women and children. Thrills of emo¬ 
tion warmed us all. It was so spontaneously generous 
and kindly. I could have cried from sheer gratitude and 
Mohammed’s dazzling smile was reflected on all our faces. 
The camels were driven with shouts into more regular 
order. Abdul Rahim ordered his men into line. Mighrib, 
wild with excitement, seized my camel and almost dragged 
me off it. “Are you happy? Are you happy?” he 
kept asking. Yusuf was dancing with delight. We tried 
to collect our scattered wits and march up the rise in 
dignified fashion. The Sudanese achieved it, led by their 
sergeant, but now that my foot was less swollen both my 
great yellow shoes fell off at every second step, while 
Hassanein’s jerd described odd, wind-blown antics on its 
own. 

I shall never forget the mass of tall, grave figures in 
snowy jerd and burnus, drawn up in military formation. 
The setting sun blazed red behind them, and from below 
came the wild “Ullula-een!” of the women. We came 
as strangers, as pilgrims to the land of the Senussi. We 


TRIUMPHANT ARRIVAL AT JALO 101 


had no claim on their hospitality. We had no right to 
enter the most closely guarded country in the world. 
Beggar or prince, Beduin or sheikh, must prove good 
reason ere he is made free of the south-bound tracks to 
the sacred city. Our only passport was our love of the 
Arab race, our sympathy with their customs and their 
Faith. We dared offer no other plea. We asked but the 
right of the nomad to travel with his camels wherever 
the desert called him. Sidi Idris, with a mystic’s vision, 
responded to our desire. “The Beduins sense those who 
love them, and they answer to the bond,” he said. 
“You will go unharmed.” We had received a blessing 
and we might wander south by desert city and guarded 
well to the mysterious, secret oasis. Little did we realise 
that we had been marked as the honoured guests for whom 
no generosity was too great! “The hospitality that you 
show them will be as if you had shown it to us,” had 
written Sayed Rida and, by his will, we shared his lord- 
ship of the desert. 

As we approached the white ranks bowed with dignity, 
and a chorus of grave “Aselamu aleikum, Marhaba, 
Marhaba!” “Bisilama” welcomed us, but the lines 
never wavered. We shook hands with the kaimakaan, 
Hameida Bey Zeitun, with the sheikh of the zawia, 
Sidi Mohammed es Senussi, and with many ekhwan, 
following their example by afterwards kissing our hands 
and touching our foreheads. We murmured gratitude 
unbounded for the honour they did us. “All that we 
have is yours,” they said. “We belong to the Sayed.” 
A house had already been prepared for us. The white 
mass parted to let us through. Surrounded by the digni¬ 
taries of the town, amidst a swelling murmur of welcome 
and blessing, we followed the hospitable kaimakaan into 
the narrow sand streets. 

It was a strange, muddled phantasy seen through a 


102 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


gap in the folds of the barracan—dark-robed women 
peeping from low doorways, shouts of flying children as 
the thonged whip of the commissaire swept them from 
our path, thick sand, pale walls and the white crowd 
of kindly smiling elders pressing round us. We stumbled 
through an arched door into a dark anteroom, on by odd 
little yards and passages, into a small court. “This 
house is all yours,” said the kaimakaan, “and the gov¬ 
ernment is at your service. Food will be brought you 
and all that you ask for we will gladly give.” 

The last scene remains in my mind. We stood in 
the doorway of the largest room, a mud-walled chamber 
twelve feet square, with a central pine trunk holding up 
the flat roof made of plaited leaves, the floor of the desert’s 
own sand, thick and unmatted. The most reverend 
ekhwan gathered in the court, and the Sayed’s letters 
were formally read. “Good! Very good!” came a 
contented murmur, and then the kisses and the formula, 
“The Sayed’s orders are on our heads,” as they touched 
turban and jerd and ma-araka! 

By this time it was 5 p.m. and dark, so we thought it 
was time for the day’s second meal. The first had been 
eaten at 7 a.m. at Aujela. Mohammed would not hear 
of it. “They will come back. They will bring every¬ 
thing. We must make ready.” From somewhere he 
produced mats and a carpet, his own I believe, which he 
spread on the sand. It is difficult to arrange bulging 
sacks of tinned food and cereals artistically, but he did 
his best, while I made a royal illumination by sticking a 
lighted candle on the top of every sack. Just as we 
finished the ekhwan trooped back, all bearing gifts—one 
brought dates, another bitter native butter, a third great 
bowls of camel’s or goat’s milk. A white fluttering hen 
was pressed into my hands, and a huge horned sheep 
dragged to our feet. Bread enough for a regiment was 


TRIUMPHANT ARRIVAL AT JALO 103 


piled in a plaited basket. Eggs and tea and sugar 
followed. We stumbled over our thanks in sheer amaze¬ 
ment at their hospitality. “At least not the sheep,” I 
said frantically, probably in English, as no notice was 
taken. 

When the clamour had died away and the rejoicing 
Mohammed had piled our rich gifts in every available 
corner, a small council of war gathered, sitting cross- 
legged on the largest mat. I was offered the place of 
honour, but I felt that refreshment was needed, so Farraj 
and I made a tiny brush fire in a corner of the court and 
laboured to make strong sweet coffee. Our baggage was 
wildly mixed, but the black rose to the occasion. He 
produced a tin of coffee from somewhere and I broke one 
of the great square slabs of sugar with a stone. We 
puffed and blew at the wavering fire till our faces scorched 
and the water boiled. Mohammed jumped excitedly 
round, upsetting things and offering impossible sugges¬ 
tions, but the coffee, bought at my pet London grocer’s, 
was good, and though there was a deficit of glasses, the 
guests appreciated it warmly. As I brought in a second 
relay of cups on a tin plate they formed a favourable 
impression of the Sitt Khadija and decided that perhaps 
her mixture of blood was a pity but not a crime! 

The grave Abdullah joined us, his keen, pointed face 
with small dark beard, lean and weather-beaten, burnt 
almost black in contrast to his thick white burnus. We 
talked of routes. The fat Yusuf naturally wanted to go 
straight to Kufara by the Wadai caravan route and 
return the same way. The kaimakaan and two sheikhs, 
Ibrahim Bishari and Mohammed Maghruf, wished to 
uphold the honour of the Senussi. Therefore, they 
assured us that all routes were safe. Abdullah was anxious 
not to go to Buseima. He said, entirely incorrectly, 
that a band of Tuaregs dwelt in Ribiana and their whole 


104 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


business in life consisted in robbing any chance travellers 
between Buseima and Kufara. He said that caravans 
cannot cross the steep dunes. The camels slip and cast 
their loads or break their legs. “Our camels are not 
strong,” he urged, “and they are not used to deep sand. 
While we are labouring in the dunes, the Tuaregs will 
attack us and take the caravan.” “Is there no way of 
avoiding them?” I asked, determined to see Buseima. 
“None. They will know where we are passing, and they 
will lie in wait to surprise us. One man might escape 
them, but how can a caravan pass unseen?” He told 
a gruesome story of a caravan passing that way from 
Wadai a few weeks ago and of a successful Tuareg attack 
which seized the camels and put to flight those of the 
escort whom they did not kill. I could believe it, because 
in the French Sahara I had known the masked Tuaregs, 
and their swift-trotting camels, date-fed. They never 
remove the cloths which hide their mouths, but they 
are the salt of the Beduin race—tireless, fearless and 
cruel! 

Ibrahim Bishari proffered the fact that there was a 
route between Taiserbo and Zieghen, one day’s journey 
or a day and a half at most, so if, after reaching Taiserbo, 
we did not wish to face the dunes or the Tuaregs, we 
could go to the lonely well on the caravan route, and 
thence in five days to Kufara. Only Yusuf protested. 
“In Buseima are enemies of the Arabs,” he said. 
“There is always danger there.” But I sternly insisted. 
“The honour of the Sayed is in your hands. You must 
prove to the Ferangi that his influence is strong enough 
to protect his people anywhere.” This phrase spiked his 
guns for the moment. It was enthusiastically received 
by the others. After deciding that we would stay in 
Jalo for two or three days to procure girbas to carry 
sufficient water for our large party, food for the men, 


TRIUMPHANT ARRIVAL AT JALO 105 


information about the route and generally to reorganise 
the caravan, and that we would then go to Taiserbo, the 
party broke up with many “Aselamu akeikum’s” and 
“Rahmat Allah!” 

At last we could devote our whole attention to food! 
First, however, I was taken by Moraj a to see the sheep, 
which had already been slaughtered, skinned, and cut 
up into bits. “Choose which piece you want, and we 
will eat the rest,” said the sergeant. I picked out a 
leg and departed hastily, but the blacks were amazed at 
my frugality. Two rushed after me with strange-look- 
ing fragments, which I had never seen on a dinner-table, 
and pressed them upon me. “They are very good,” 
they said. “You will be happy.” 

December 20 and 21 we passed in the little sand house 
with the maze of odd courts and antechambers. After 
forty-eight hours within its hospitable walls I still lost 
my way coming from the main door to my room, so 
intricate were the twists and turns. It does not sound 
a very lengthy affair to procure and issue food and girbas 
sufficient for seventeen people for a fortnight or three 
weeks, when the Government’s stores are at one’s dis¬ 
posal and the kaimakaan is as capable and energetic 
as Hameida Bey Zeitun. Yet we worked about eighteen 
hours out of each twenty-four. Flour rations for the 
caravan! Yes, the grain is in the village, but it must 
be ground, and for this purpose a little must be doled 
out to each house in Jalo, for no family possesses more 
than one primitive handmill worked by two blue-robed 
women, who slowly turn the great stones one above the 
other. Sixteen girbas for water! Yes, but some of them 
leak, and there is no tar to repair them. 

So it is with everything. The soldiers would not travel 
without a large supply of “zeit” (oil) in which to cook 
their cereals. Mohammed wanted to have a change of 


106 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


raiment made and was only comforted by hearing that 
the prices were much cheaper in Kufara. The dark 
Abdullah would not move an inch without being satisfied 
that the caravan carried sufficient water. The full army 
allowance for washing, cooking and drinking is a gallon 
per day per man. There were seventeen people in our 
party, so for seven days we should have had to carry 
133 gallons. The largest girbas hold seven gallons, and 
a camel carries four of them. Therefore, five loads 
would have had to be devoted to water only. This was 
impossible, as we had also to carry dates for our animals 
at an allowance of one sack per head per day, and we 
had only eight camels. 

Every moment that was not devoted to the considera¬ 
tion of these practical details or to settling the grievances 
of the men—Yusuf had several new ones each day, and 
even Hassanein was aggrieved because the solemn tailor 
did not finish his new white chemise and trousers in 
time—we spent in the delightful practice of “fadhling.” 
It is not an easy thing to gain information among the 
Senussi. The simplest question generates suspicion. A 
remark about the price of cotton stuff or the position 
of a well arouses the darkest forebodings. The sight of 
pencil and note-book seals their lips. One needs infinite 
patience and understanding before one can penetrate 
their reserve. They are a silent race with rare bursts of 
loquaciousness. At an Arab gathering it is not necessary 
to talk. After the oft-repeated “Keif halak” and 
“Taiyib,” the men sit gravely silent, staring into space 
and sipping their strong green tea. The desert breeds 
reserve. If a man travels alone for many days or weeks 
without sight of a human being, without exchanging a 
word, he learns to commune with himself and his god, 
and he shuts his heart away in a sealed chamber. 

The Senussi are particularly difficult of approach, as 


TRIUMPHANT ARRIVAL AT JALO 107 

they are a closely knitted religious fraternity imbued with 
a distrust of strangers that almost amounts to hatred! 
Not only does the Nasrani not cross their border, but 
practically no Arab outside their brotherhood travels by 
their routes. Hence the advent of any stranger, even 
protected by the “Sayeds,” gives birth to a storm of 
conjecture, criticism and suspicion. When this is 
satisfied and allayed, their loyal friendliness appears, and 
they welcome one literally as one of themselves. “All 
that we have is yours,” is not a form of speech in Libya. 
It is true so long as the friendly atmosphere exists, but 
one may have worked for hours or days to create the 
right impression, and a chance word may destroy it. I 
think utter simplicity and little speech are the best 
methods of approach. Flowery words impress them, and 
they say, “Thy conversation is like honey. Allow me 
to return that I may drink of it.” But to themselves 
they murmur, “He is a juggler of words. Let us be 
careful lest he bemuse us!” 

They always suspect an ulterior motive and it is best, 
therefore, to satisfy their love of mystery and let them 
gradually decipher a suitable one. The basis of their 
life is their faith and, like every ascetic sect, their strict 
practice isolates them from the rest of humanity. Out¬ 
side the distrust engendered by their lives, aloof and 
remote from any code but their own, they are as simple 
as the shepherd patriarchs of old. The mentality of 
Abraham exists to-day in Libya. Also they are as easily 
impressed, offended or hurt as children. The poorer 
people show the amused, expectant curiosity of children, 
with the same eagerness to question and to learn. Once 
they have admitted one to their friendship, the sheikhs 
ask intelligently about politics in the Middle East, and 
for hours one may discuss the Ottoman Empire, the 
Hejaz and Egypt. Before, however, one can even 


108 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


attempt to joke, much time must have been spent 
“fadhling.” 

One by one the important merchants and sheikhs 
came to visit us. Gradually the circle seated upon our 
one carpet under the palm leaf roof widened. Grave, 
bearded faces peered from the hoods of dark blue 
burnuses, braided, lined with red. Sunburnt hands flicked 
away the myriad flies with whisks of palm fronds. There 
was the plump kaimakaan, with pallid, intelligent face 
and stubble of black beard round thick, smiling lips, and 
Garboah Effendi, with humorous expression on a face 
which might hail from Europe—firm lips, square jaw, pale 
skin, wide, quizzical smile. I think stray Vandal blood 
must run in his veins. His mother lived in Benghazi, 
and he was interested in the ways of Europe. There was 
the white-faced sheikh el zawia, Mohammed es Senussi, 
with dreamy eyes and dropping jaw, and dear, fat, old 
Sheikh Mohammed Maghruf, with round, lineless face as 
brown as a nut, a succession of circles from his little 
pursed mouth to his round brown eyes, and Sheikh 
Ibrahim Bishari, the traveller, who had taken his laden 
caravan from Wadai to Egypt, from Kufara to Lake 
Chad. 

We discovered, after much sweet tea had been drunk 
with loud sucking noises and our best coffee was perfum¬ 
ing the air, that Jalo is a community of merchants. 
The date palms are a minor thing. The village lives by 
its trade, for it is on the main caravan route between 
the Sudan and the Cyrenaican ports. Sidi Mohammed, 
the Mahdi, founded this great desert highway through 
Kufara. Before his day all caravans passed by way of 
Tripoli and the Fezzan. We learned that ivory was 
bought at Wadai for five or ten francs the pound and 
that when the expenses of the long journey were deducted, 
the Beduins coimted on making a profit of fifty per cent. 


TRIUMPHANT ARRIVAL AT JALO 109 


in Benghazi. Southbound caravans took needles, soap, 
scent, sandal, cotton stuffs, sugar and tea. They returned 
with ivory, feathers and smuggled slave boys and girls 
of eight to ten years. Some of these latter were adorable 
—solemn little beings, with chubby black faces peering 
out of the pointed hood of minute camel’s-hair burnuses. 
They were sent by their masters to bring us gifts of eggs 
and milk and they regarded us with aloof scorn till we 
propitiated them with handfuls of dates. 

The friendly circles discussed every Sahara route, 
marked or unmarked, upon the maps. We learned the 
position of every well and the taste of the water therein. 
We also learned that in winter a camel may actually go 
fifteen days without water, if lightly loaded and carefully 
driven. Therefore, Siwa, Jaghabub and Farafra are all 
possible outlets from Kufara, though a single mistake or 
mishap means destruction. As the hours lengthened 
and the coffee grew sweeter, we passed from business to 
politics. The eyes of all were turned to Egypt’s struggle 
for freedom as an earnest of the future of Libya. To my 
surprise, Britain was regarded with respect and affection. 
The destruction of the Senussi zawias in Egypt was put 
down to the result of Sayed Ahmeds mistaken policy. 
Apparently the whole country had realised Britain’s 
disinterestedness with regard to Libya and, therefore, 
had entered but half-heartedly into the projects of Man- 
nismann and Nouri. Sayed Ahmed is regarded with 
respect and reverence as a devout Moslem, but his politics 
are regretted. Sayed Idris is looked upon as the saviour 
of his country. He came forward at a moment when 
the Senussi saw a prospect of the whole land slipping into 
European hands. By his tactful policy he preserved the 
power of his people, who respect him for his friendship 
with Britain and for his intelligent and amicable attitude 
towards Italy. They look to him to preserve Libya for 


110 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


the Senussi, while realising that Italy will always have a 
hold in Cyrenaica. It is too early yet for the new con¬ 
stitution to be appreciated in Libya. The terms of the 
accord at Regima have not yet been transmitted to the 
desert oases. Therefore, there was still much doubt in 
the minds of our visitors as to the future of their country. 

When the broadminded policy of Italy is fully known, 
there should be an excellent understanding between the 
Senussi and their Latin allies. The whole prosperity of 
the country will depend upon that good understanding. 
Two men are responsible for its initiation. The Beduins 
owe their present peace entirely to the straightforward, 
progressive spirit of Sidi Idris. Italy owes hers to the 
Governor of Cyrenaica, Senator de Martino, who appears 
to be the first European statesman of this era to realise 
that in dealing with Arab races it pays to keep one’s 
pledged word. “C’est une mauvaise politique de pro - 
mettre et de ne pas tenir bon ” His Excellency said to 
me while I was staying with him at Benghazi. “C’est 
Verreur qua fait VAngleterre. Ici on a confiance en 
moi parcequon salt que je tiendrai ma parole!” 

When the candles were lit and mint leaves put in the 
tea our guests grew confidential. They told us of their 
love of freedom and of their desire for a quiet life with¬ 
out political intrigue. The war had done them much 
harm, for it had raised prices and closed routes. The 
trade of the country was almost at a standstill. The 
export of hides had stopped altogether. 

Bitter feeling had to a large extent died down, but 
it could be rekindled by any act of aggression. The 
Arabs hoped at the moment that Italy would come no 
farther inland, but I imagine that their merchants will 
be anxious to avail themselves of the increased facilities 
for trade which Italian protection will give to Cyrenaica. 
Sheikh Ibrahim asked about the Hejaz kingdom. There 


TRIUMPHANT ARRIVAL AT JALO 111 

is a famous Senussi zawia near Mecca and the bonds 
between Libya and the Hejaz must always be close 
because of the pilgrimage to the “Beit Ullah!” It is 
to the interests of every devout Moslem, especially to 
these ascetic fanatics, that there should be peace in the 
territory of King Hussein. All were interested in the 
career of the Emir Faisul and they asked when he would 
return to Damascus. To this embarrassing question we 
were obliged to give evasive replies, but the point was 
pressed with more decision than usual. “Is not England 
going to help him?” asked the kaimakaan indignantly. 
We tried to explain the complicated policy of my country, 
but the oldest sheikh shook his head impatiently. “Are 
not the English strong enough to protect their allies?” 
he said. “We were sorry when Sayed Ahmed made war 
upon England, because we thought she was strong and 
powerful. Has she become weak now?” We changed 
the conversation lightly, but the little sting rankled. 

Once more it was brought home to us how British 
prestige among the Arabs had dwindled during the last 
years. We have won the war, but we have lost the 
peace! Maybe we have lost an even greater thing! As 
I listened to the words of censure of our Beduin guests 
I remembered the last speech I had heard on the subject. 
It came from the lips of a great statesman at an Asiatic 
Society dinner in London and, delineating Britain’s 
future policy in the Middle East, it left its hearers 
bewildered by rhetoric but ignorant of fact! 


CHAPTER VI 


CHRISTMAS IN THE DESERT 

T HE oasis of Jalo contains two villages a few hun¬ 
dred yards apart. El Erg is the seat of the 
Government and contains the Kasr, or Govern¬ 
ment Office, the kaimakaan’s house and a new zawia 
with some forty ekhwan. The belad rambles by 
circuitous narrow lanes, bordered by windowless walls, 
pierced by low doorways, over a rise and down the 
farther side to the foot of a large dune, from the top 
of which one sees mile after mile of scattered palms, 
with here and there a well, its mouth strengthened by 
palm trunks. Generally a group of picturesque figures 
surrounds it and gossips while the day’s water supply is 
drawn. An effective contrast to the glaring white sands 
are the indigo and royal blue tobhs with which the black 
slave-women mingle the orange and reds of their more 
barbaric taste. At the door of every mosque one finds a 
group of swathed white figures, sunk in contemplation 
or in sleep, yet mechanically flicking away the ever- 
attentive flies. 

I rode across the hollow to Lebba on a big white 
donkey lent by Homeida Bey Zeitun. It is a twin 
village except that the streets are broader and straighter, 
and the whole place is dominated by the square tower 
of Sayed Hilal’s house. As I passed below its latticed 
windows a very pretty face, framed in its sapphire veil, 
peeped out. It was olive-skinned and round, with dark 
kohl blurred round darker eyes, long-lashed and misty. 
112 



THE AUTHOR WITH THE TWO SLAVES-ZEINAB AND HAUWA 



OUR CAMP AT BUTTAFAL 






/ 
































* 












CHRISTMAS IN THE DESERT 113 

The blue tattoo marks on chin and lips but served to 
throw up the gleam of pearl-white teeth, and great silver 
ear-rings, red-studded, swung against plait after plait of 
midnight hair. 

Lebba possesses a very old zawia, founded by Sidi 
Mohammed ben Ali. I went through its palm-filled yard 
to the court of the mosque, where I was warmly greeted 
by Sheikh Omar, who told me he was happy to meet 
anyone with English blood. He introduced me to all his 
teachers and his most intelligent pupils, who wanted to 
show me there and then how well they could write. 
“You are cleverer than I, for I cannot write Arabic,” 
I said, and a murmur of surprise and scorn ran through 
the group. “She cannot write and she is big, so big! 
I believe she is older than Fatima, or Ayisha!” or any 
other female relative of advanced years! There are a 
hundred and fifty boy students at the Lebba zawia and 
about eighty ekhwan. The long, low mosque is very 
small, clean and white, with its sand arches and palm 
walls—a few palm mats on the floor and a little painted 
“mihrab,” fragile and bent. “It cost two hundred 
mejidies to build,” said the sheikh proudly; and again, 
as I left, he spoke kind words about my country, 
which were balm after the censure of the previous 
evening. 

On our last afternoon we had a council in the house 
of the kaimakaan. We left our shoes outside his door 
and sat cross-legged round the walls of a room, empty 
save for a packing-case which carried little-used writing 
materials. “Now is everything ready to start to-morrow 
at dawn?” I asked briskly. A most dubious “Inshal- 
lah ” came from Yusuf. I have always thought it rather 
hard that the Deity should be made responsible for the 
whole doubt of the East! The question repeated, each 
produced a pet difficulty. “The oil has not come,” said 


114 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 

the portly sergeant, Moraja. “Take two soldiers and 
get it,” ruthlessly replied Hassanein. The man relapsed 
into prompt silence lest he should really be obliged to 
leave before the arrival of delicious hot sweet milk 
flavoured with cinnamon. Mohammed wanted to write 
letters for Jedabia. Abdullah pointed out that some of 
the girbas were new and smeared with oil instead of tar, 
which would melt in hot weather and make the water 
nauseous. Yusuf frankly wanted to stay under a roof 
where he could eat and sleep all day. His fat face had 
assumed an expression of habitual discontent, and through 
much yawning his eyes had almost disappeared in two 
narrow slits. All the retinue had donned their best 
clothes in Jalo. Abdullah retained his snowy woollen 
jerd and burnus, with scarlet belt supporting his huge 
old-fashioned wooden pistol inlaid with much silver, but 
Mohammed and Yusuf wore short embroidered jackets of 
green and blue and striped silk jerds crossed with gay 
agals worn like aiglets. 

We alone could not change and I wondered how 
long I should have to appear in the same unwashed red 
tobh and chequered barracan. There is no good water 
at Jalo, so the washing is always sent a day’s journey 
to Buttafal. This is the last well on the route to Kufara 
and Taiserbo. Therefore, we decided to depart thither 
on the morrow and camp for a day beside its sweet 
waters before starting on our stern journey south. When 
they saw that we meant to insist, the retinue became 
almost brisk and to my great surprise even the lazy 
Yusuf was up the next morning at 4 o’clock busy with 
preparations. Nothing ever arrives till the last moment 
in the East, but one must always be prepared for it to 
come just when one has made up one’s mind to do with¬ 
out it. Thus, when everything was packed, the hard- 
boiled eggs and bread, ordered twenty-four hours before, 


CHRISTMAS IN THE DESERT 


115 


made their appearance and had to be dumped into the 
first available sack. 

It is no easy matter loading a caravan that has got 
to travel two hundred and fifty miles with a seven days’ 
waterless stretch. I looked at our eighteen camels with 
much anxiety. Some of them were small and weak. 
One of them was a living picture of all that a camel 
should not be. He might have been used “successfully 
by the Khartoum Camel Corps as an example to enthu¬ 
siastic young officers of what not to buy. His feet were 
worn, his hump was soft, his elbows rubbed together as 
he walked, his chest pad was insufficient, and he had 
sores under his shoulders. Besides this, many of the 
nagas were in foal. However, it was no use worrying 
in advance. Long ago I had realised that we should get 
to Kufara only if Allah so willed, and the farther we 
moved into the desert the more I felt impelled by some 
ulterior force. I was never surprised when difficulties 
piled themselves up and then vanished without reason at 
the last moment. I began to feel a fatalistic trust in 
the destiny that had dragged me from hunting and hunt 
balls and sent me out into the white Sahara to find the 
Holy place which had been a secret for so long. The 
feeling of Kismet was so strong that it prevented my 
troubling excessively over our weak camels, even though 
I felt that they were dangerously overloaded. Our party 
had increased to nineteen by two black slave girls in 
vivid barracans and little else, property of one of the 
Sayeds, who wished them sent to Kufara. 

In spite of the utmost exertions the caravan was not 
ready to start till 11.30, when, amidst a chorus of kindly 
wishes, regrets and blessings, we plodded slowly out of 
the hospitable town into a raging north-westerly wind. 
We meant to march on into the night and reach Buttafal 
about 10 p.m., but fate decided otherwise, for almost 


116 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: IOJFARA 


before the walls of Jalo had disappeared the wind 
strengthened into the worst gibli I have ever encountered. 
It was behind us, for we were heading south-east, yet 
the camels staggered and swung round, huddling against 
each other for shelter. I was nearly swept off the back 
of my blond beast. Every loose mat and blanket flapped 
in wide circles and loads began to sway dangerously. 
On all sides palms were bending and cracking in the 
sudden gale, while great leaves were torn off and whirled 
whistling above our heads. The air became a thick sheet 
of sand. Sun and direction were blotted out. Screaming 
gusts stung our faces and blinded us. It was the most 
extraordinary sight, for one minute camels and figures 
would be blotted out in a whirling white fog; then a 
head or a wildly gyrating blanket or a portion of a 
labouring camel would appear for an instant through the 
shroud and vanish again in the smarting dusk. We 
stumbled and choked and fell through the storm till even 
Abdullah saw it was useless. In an instant’s lull a palm 
tree fence appeared to our left, with a small boy crouch¬ 
ing beside a garden plot of onions, radishes and pumpkins. 
We turned our camels towards the low shelter and they 
sank heavily to their knees beside a clump of the grey, 
nameless trees. The boy gave our guide some radishes 
as he passed, and in spite of the agony of flying sand 
the Reduin turned to me with a smile. “It is a blessed 
journey,” he said. “Look at the green which has been 
given us!” It is proof of how far one had wandered 
from the mentality of London and Paris that his words 
gave me great comfort. 

I gathered the thickest blanket round me and dug 
myself into the sand, while a hail of dust and grit beat 
upon me. Through a narrow slit I saw the blacks, with 
kufiyas tied across their mouths and noses, staggering 
about with sacks and boxes. They appeared like phan- 


CHRISTMAS IN THE DESERT 


117 


tasmic figures on a lantern screen, to vanish in the next 
strong gust of wind. It was impossible to put up a tent. 
The camels were barraked in a semicircle, where they 
lay groaning but not attempting to move. The baggage 
was piled to form zaribas, and in the lee of these we 
crouched for four or five hours, blankets covering our 
faces, handkerchiefs wound over our mouths. I thought 
the retinue would look upon the storm as a bad omen, 
but Mohammed only smiled with dust-parched lips. 
“This will be a successful journey. We shall have good 
luck,” he said, “for when the Sayed travels there is 
nearly always a gibli thus!” 

Once when I tried to change my cramped position I 
felt something soft huddled against me. I peered out 
of my wrappings cautiously and found the black face of 
Zeinab, the prettiest slave girl, almost on my shoulder. 
She seized my hand and kissed it devoutly, while her com¬ 
panion, Hauwa, drew closer. Their thin, gaudy barracans 
were no protection against the madness of the sand, so I 
offered them a share in my blanket and we made friends 
under the sheltering thickness. Zeinab was young, about 
sixteen, and round-faced, with curved full lips and big 
velvet eyes modestly downcast. Hauwa looked ancient 
with her wrinkled skin and yellow, uneven teeth, but her 
years were only twenty-four. The Sudanese marry, if 
the parents have money, when the girl is nine and the 
boy thirteen. Therefore these ebony slaves may be grand¬ 
mothers at the age when an English girl is wondering 
whether she is old enough to wed! My little companions 
were full of questions and comment, mixed with praise 
of Sayed Rida. They wanted to give me the eggs they 
had brought for themselves, and it is almost impossible 
to refuse a gift in the East. It is accepted as a matter 
of course without expression of thanks. It used to sur¬ 
prise me at first that if one gave a man a watch or revolver 


118 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


he took it without comment, hut gradually I realised that 
they give and they receive with the same simplicity. 

Zeinab wore huge silver ear-rings and bracelets and 
an embroidered leather belt carrying a dozen gay little 
pouches for her toilet necessities, while Hauwa had tied 
her barracan into a sort of hood, with a strip of crimson 
leather bearing some “hejabs” (charms) in tiny wallets. 
Both had broad sticks of scarlet coral stuck through 
holes in their nostrils. When the storm abated, about 
5.30 p.m., they emerged from the blanket and busied 
themselves, briskly preparing the Beduin evening meal. 

By this time there were always two rival camps in 
neighbouring zaribas. Behind one wall of heavy sacks 
the soldiers cooked their savoury flour. Within another 
semicircle Mohammed and Yusuf, with the guide and a 
black camel-boy, brewed strong sweet tea, while the two 
girls were provided with a little camp beside the Arabs’ 
shelter. Mohammed was always kind to them, providing 
them with some of his own flour and dates, together with 
the occasional loan of a blanket, but otherwise nobody 
troubled about them except when it was a question of 
cooking or washing clothes. True, when the length of 
our stay permitted the pitching of tents, the Beduins 
always contented themselves with the zariba, leaving to 
Zeinab and Hauwa the use of their tent, but the girls 
accepted as a matter of course that, after riding all day, 
they should cook and wash and clean and generally see 
to the comfort of the Arab retinue. 

We wanted to break camp after the evening meal, but 
though the sandstorm had abated the wind was still cold. 
Abdullah pointed out that we should walk all night and 
arrive too tired to work in the morning, which would be 
waste of energy, as all the firewood for the journey had 
to be collected in the vicinity of Buttafal. We therefore 
crawled into our sleeping-bags under the shelter of the 


CHRISTMAS IN THE DESERT 


119 


palm fence at 7 p.m., and were up again while it was 
still dark. The same cold wind stimulated the blacks to 
brisk action, and there was a great deal of running about 
and singing, but the sun rose while the camels were still 
being loaded and we did not start till seven. 

We had camped on the very edge of the Jalo oasis. 
The last palms were behind us, and in front lay the 
flattest country I had ever seen. To the rim of the near 
horizon stretched an unbroken expanse of yellowish, 
gravelly sand. We thought we had crossed flat, mo¬ 
notonous country before, but on December 23 we rode 
across a drab-coloured billiard table whereon was not a 
blade of grass, a bird, an insect or a mound. It was as if 
we were at the end of the world and the round horizon the 
edge off which we should presently fall! The only objects 
that marred the extraordinary monotony were a few 
scattered skeletons of camels which had died at the end of 
a long march from Kufara or Taiserbo. Occasionally a 
bleached thighbone had been stuck upright in the sand 
to mark the direction. 

It was a cool, bright day with a north-west wind. 
Persistent neglect had practically cured my foot, so I 
was able to walk for a couple of hours with Abdul Rahim. 
He waxed enthusiastic over the extent of the Senussi 
influence in Bornu, Senegal, the Sudan and Wadai, 
giving me a list of the principal zawias. “Only in 
Wadai there is none,” he said, “for the Sultan said to 
Sidi Ben Ali, ‘We will always be your friends and allies, 
but if you build a zawia here the next thing you will do 
will be to come and conquer us!’ ” The commandant 
was in a loquacious mood and reminiscences flowed from 
his lips. It was he who had been sent by Sidi Ahmed to 
kill Mukhtar, the Senussi officer in the pay of Turkey, 
who had attacked Bomba in Egyptian territory without 
direct orders from his master. He was at Jaghabub when 


120 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


Sidi Hilal quarrelled with his uncle and, under sentence 
of death, fled to Tobruk in forty-eight hours. The young 
Sayed had described the horrors of the 250 kilometres 
ride to me at a dinner in his house at Jedabia when, 
amidst his rich carpets and brilliant clothes, he could 
laugh at the memory of aching bones and failing strength. 

Abdul was conversant also with the doings of Rama¬ 
dan Shetewi, the great Arab leader who for many years 
held the Italians at bay in Tripolitania, but who was 
killed a few months ago in a fight with the Orfella. It 
appears that his alliance with Sayed Ahmed was but 
lukewarm, for on one occasion, when he provided a body¬ 
guard for a German mission which was taking a large 
sum of money to the Sayed in Cyrenaica, his men had or¬ 
ders to kill the unfortunate Teutons as soon as they were 
out of sight of Misurata. Ramadan Shetewi took the offi¬ 
cial gold and the mission’s private wealth was divided 
among the murderers. 

At noon Yusuf pointed to the faintest rise in the 
distance. “Behind that hill is Bir Buttafal,” he said, 
and with visions of another green spot on our wonderful 
map, we hoped to see at dusk one palm and a few tufts of 
brushwood. Not a single blade of grass marks the slight 
hollow. There is not a stone nor a stick nor a tuft of 
green sage in all the wide expanse of thick, soft sand. 
The day we arrived there was not even a hole. Before 
we had time to ask where was the well, Abdullah and two 
of the blacks apparently went mad. They flung them¬ 
selves on their knees and with rhythmic cries began 
burrowing rapidly, flinging the sand vigorously over their 
shoulders. Only when they had sunk to their waists and 
the heap around them began to grow dark and moist did 
we realise that they were actually digging out the well, 
which had been entirely filled in by the gibli of the 
previous day. 


CHRISTMAS IN THE DESERT 


121 


On Christmas Eve the whole party devoted themselves 
to washing their clothes, with surreptitious drinks of the 
sweet Buttafal spring, the first good water we had tasted 
since we left Jedabia. Zeinab and Hauwa laboured 
patiently to reduce the retinue’s flowing garments to their 
pristine whiteness. I had to disguise myself in a jerd 
while my own red tobh was in the tin pan that served as 
a laundry. The blacks, stripped to the waist, their top- 
knots bobbing above their shaven heads, pommelled and 
pounded beside the well. By the afternoon the desert was 
spotted with patches of white, whose snowiness rapidly 
disappeared beneath stray drifting sand. However, there 
was a general feeling of cleanliness in the air, and we 
were glad when Musa She-ib appeared from the direction 
of Jalo, with three donkeys and a camel in search of 
the waters of Buttafal which could be sold in Jalo, 
where the wells are brackish and salt, for half a mejidie 
a girba. We are glad to have an excuse for “fadhling,” 
so we pressed the kind old man to stay for a midday meal 
and, sitting round the fire in the largest zariba, we made 
green tea while Abdullah cut goat-hide thongs for a new 
pair of sandals, Hassanein mended the watches of the 
party, all of which had stopped in the sandstorm, 
and Mohammed made primitive rope out of the palm 
fibre. 

That night we watched the camels being fed by 
moonlight. It struck me at the time that it was a stupid 
plan to put all the dates in one large heap, as the greediest 
camels devoured more than their share and the slowest 
eaters got little. However, I daren’t argue with Abdullah 
about what was obviously his own job. After the animals 
had eaten there was a great argument as to whether they 
should be watered that night or the following morning. 
Finally it was decided to let them drink at once and it 
was amusing to see the way they rushed to the well. 


122 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


Only two at a time could approach the shallow pan, which 
the Beduins kept filling and refilling, shouting monot¬ 
onously, “Come and drink—then you will be strong! 
Come and drink—then you will be strong!” which 
changed when the camels became violent into a chanted, 
“See how your drinking splashes me! See how your 
drinking wets me!” 

One realised the loneliness of the desert that night. 
The four tents and the animated group at the well were 
infinitesimal specks on the desolate, limitless waste, 
silvered by moonlight into an unbroken sea without ripple 
or bourne. How easily even a mighty caravan might 
vanish in the Libyan desert and no more trace be left 
of it than of a few ants crushed under foot on a sandy 
court. I longed for even one lonely palm to break the 
awful monotony. It was the aching solitude of Nature 
pitted against the pathetic energy of man and Nature 
had no need to fight. She could leave the struggle and 
the stress to the human midges who would traverse her 
trackless silences, and when their pitiful vitality and force 
were spent in battling with her winds and her droughts 
she could bury them “noiselessly in her fathomless drifts 
beneath the white serenity of her moons.” First the 
fuel failed. Then the food failed. Then the last water 
dried. 

“With the faith of little children we laid us down and died, 

Follow on! Follow on! By the bones upon the wayside 
Ye shall come into your own!” 

On Christmas Day the camp was astir by 3 a.m. 
Everybody was prepared for prodigies of endurance in 
the way of an immensely long march. Therefore, when 
I plunged briskly out of my tent while the moonlight was 
still clear, I could not understand why there were no 
chants or shouts, no cheerful rushing about with the 


CHRISTMAS IN THE DESERT 


123 


cumbersome bales. Arabs and blacks alike were standing 
about in sorrowful groups. Mohammed, with a plaid 
rug wound over the fleece-lined mackintosh, was cleaning 
a ruthless-looking knife. Even the camels had the most 
depressed possible expression. One of the nagas lay 
beside the fire with drooping head. It appeared that she 
was the direct cause of the agitation, though most of the 
animals were suffering severely from their unaccustomed 
date meal followed by a heavy drink. The naga appeared 
to be in extremis . Foam frothed from her mouth and 
nostrils, her neck was twisted into a stiff distorted curve, 
her sides were labouring painfully. I could not have 
believed that even the most acute indigestion could reduce 
an animal to such a state after so few hours. “She 
is going to die,” said Yusuf. “Prepare the knife!” 
“Wait! Wait!” exclaimed Abdullah. “I will try 
burning her first!” Apparently there are but two 
remedies in the desert, bleeding and firing. They had 
already tried the first without effect, as it was too cold 
for the blood to run. They now pushed the unfortunate 
animal on its side and laid a hot iron on its abdomen. 
It protested much less than it usually did at being loaded, 
but the warmth presumably galvanised it into action, for 
it managed to struggle to its feet and wander off with 
the others, a sorry-looking, hunched-up group, one of 
which appeared dead lame. 

During a wasted morning the friction between the 
two hastily formed zaribas became intense. The blacks, 
incensed at the abuse which had been showered upon them 
for riding the camels between Aujela and Jalo, now 
got their own back. They said that the Arabs knew 
nothing at all about a caravan and could not even feed 
the animals properly. At noon the miserable naga got 
much worse, and Mohammed, Abdullah and I spent the 
whole afternoon sitting by her side, trying desperate 


124 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


remedies from massage to soap! When we left at 5 p.m. 
she was obviously dying and we prepared to face the 
problem of the seven days’ waterless journey with one 
camel the fewer. We argued about what luggage we 
could best dispense with until Yusuf calmly announced 
that, as we had waited an extra day at Buttafal, there 
would not now be sufficient dates to last a week. 
Mohammed said that we must announce the death of the 
Sayed’s camel to the kaimakaan at Jalo, which meant 
an extra two days’ wait. 

We held depressed councils, at which I insisted on 
an immediate start, but apparently the camel shared the 
sacredness of its master, and even its body could not be 
left at Buttafal. “Very well,” said I. “We will send 
someone back with the news, but we must leave here at 
dawn. We will give all our eating dates for the camels 
and that will make up for to-day’s rations.” 

Then the real difficulty appeared. The friction be¬ 
tween blacks and Beduins was so strong that both parties 
feared that it would eventually come to a fight, and 
neither wished to decrease their number. When I 
suggested a Sudanese going, Abdullah showed his hand. 
“Yes, yes, send back four or five,” he said eagerly. “The 
journey will be easier without them,” but Abdul Rahim 
refused point-blank to dispense with one of his soldiers. 
“The night we thought we were going to be attacked, on 
the way from Jedabia, Abdullah left us and slept with 
some kinsman near by,” he remarked shrewdly. The 
whole party was sunken in the deepest gloom, we because 
the camels were already overloaded, the retinue because 
each side feared to endanger its power by the loss of 
a fighting man, when a black form appeared on the 
faint rise beyond which we had left the dying camel. 
“Mashallah!” exclaimed Mohammed. “It is the in¬ 
fluence of Sidi Idris! A miracle! A miracle!” And 


CHRISTMAS IN THE DESERT 


125 


two minutes later the source of all our woe walked calmly 
back into camp. Its reception must have surprised it 
considerably, for everyone rushed out to meet it, firing 
revolvers and rifles into the still, starlit air, after which 
the blacks performed a wild fantasia to the music of a 
tin pan beaten by Abdullah’s sinewy fingers. So ended 
the most unpleasant Christmas I have ever known! 


CHAPTER VII 


A FAULTY GUIDE ON A WATERLESS WAY 

O N December 26 we made our actual start south. 
The day’s delay in the sandstorm and the further 
delay with the sick camel had lost us four feeds. 
We had allowed half a sack of dates night and morning, 
so now we had only five sacks for the seven days. How¬ 
ever, we bought the soldiers’ ration for sugar, threw in 
most of our own, and thus brought it up to nearly the 
requisite amount of “alaf.” As for girbas, the utmost 
the camels could carry was eight large ones, containing 
five gallons each, and eight smaller, containing four 
gallons each. We warned our party of sixteen that they 
must use only an eighth portion of the water each day. 
We then commended ourselves to Allah and started 
south at 8.30 a.m., for the weighing and exact dis¬ 
tribution of goods, to say nothing of the quarrels 
between blacks and Arabs, had occupied a couple of 
hours. 

There is no route to Taiserbo, as no one ever goes 
there. In the whole of Jalo we came across only two 
people who had visited the oasis. One said he had gone 
due south and arrived at the palm trees on the evening 
of the sixth day. The second was our own sergeant, 
Mora j a, who had passed through Taiserbo on his way 
north nine years ago and he had done the journey in 
six very long marches. Abdullah, our keen-eyed guide, 
with his dark wolf’s face lighted by flashes of brilliant 
white teeth, announced that if we headed straight for 

126 


ON A WATERLESS WAY 


127 


Taiserbo in a south-westerly direction we might go too 
far west and lose ourselves altogether. He therefore 
proposed to go south for the first five days, within sight 
of the faint landmarks on the Kufara route, and then 
turn west. All 'day long we rode across a burning, 
desolate waste, flatter than it is possible to imagine or 
describe. One could see but a few miles on either side. 
The whole of our world had become a flat, yellow disk, 
reflecting the scorching sun-rays in quivering mirage. 
The only break in the monotony was an occasional camel 
skeleton. Once a great brown hillock appeared on the 
edge of the disk and we thought it might be brushwood 
or even a caravan, till the distorting waves of mirage 
danced away and revealed it but a few huddled bones to 
which some dry, brown matter still clung. We ate a 
hard-boiled egg and a few dates for lunch, but clung to 
our rule of drinking only morning and evening. As we 
plodded onwards, for we had agreed that no one should 
ride the camels unless they were ill or dead beat, Moraj a 
assured me that our journey could not possibly be lucky, 
for we had failed to fulfil a time-honoured Arab custom 
and slaughter a sheep at Buttafal. It appears that when 
any member of a caravan visits an oasis for the first time 
a feast is made in his honour. As none of our retinue 
had seen all the oases we proposed to visit, we gathered 
it would be an expensive journey! 

To our surprise the blacks walked all day without 
grumbling, even stopping occasionally to dance and sing. 
The camel who had nearly died the previous day carried 
her load gaily. “She was ridden by Shaitan,” said 
Mohammed gravely, “but the spirit of Sidi Idris has 
cured her.” At 5 p.m. Yusuf pointed out the Kalb el 
Metemma, which he said was on the left, but I could see 
absolutely nothing which looked like a hillock. 

We saw the sun die in the flaming splendour which 


128 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


is the glory of the Sahara, we marched for an hour or two 
by cool starlight and then a great orange moon swung 
up in the east and transformed the desert into a strange 
silver sea. Across the infinite pale loneliness plodded our 
little caravan and, as I looked at the white speck which 
led us, I realised why there could be no atheist in the 
desert. Man must put his trust in something more 
powerful and far-reaching than himself. In Europe, if 
there be no God to help, at least there is science and the 
telephone, an express train or an aeroplane. In Libya, 
where the Beduin cannot call for succour by wireless, 
where there are no signposts to guide, no surgeon or 
mechanic to improve his means of locomotion, no food 
to be bought or picked, no ansesthetic but death, the 
lonely traveller must pin his faith to some power beyond 
the calm-faced guide in whose hand apparently lies the 
fate of his caravan. 

When Abdullah met me on the hill beside the 
clustered palms of Aujela, I looked at his strong, keen 
face, lined and shrewd, with steady, self-reliant eyes, and 
I felt that I could trust him to lead us safely across 
the waterless sands to an oasis whose size varied according 
to the imagination of the speaker. When I looked across 
the moonlit, speckless waste, with never a blade or stone 
to break the even surface of the disk, the tiny, plodding 
figure, trailing the end of his white jerd in the dust as 
his energy waned after eleven hours’ march without a 
halt, I felt how frail a thing I relied on for my life and 
seventeen lives besides. When we sit in comfortable 
arm-chairs under our electric lights and talk of the 
“Beduin instinct,” we acknowledge the working of a 
greater power than radium or steam! Europe may count 
on a hundred sciences, but for Libya there can be but 
one faith, one hope, “Allahu Akhbar!” 

We pitched camp at 7.30 p.m., and an hour later 



CARAVAN ON THE MARCH BETWEEN BUTTAFAL AND TAISERBO 



THE MOUNTAINS OF BUSEIMA 









ON A WATERLESS WAY 129 

our little cluster of tents was as silent as the calm sands 
around us. 

On December 27 we rose at 6 a.m. and got away by 
8, for we had decided that the best way of doing the 
necessary 50-odd kilometres a day was an unbroken march 
of eleven or twelve hours, with a solid meal before start¬ 
ing and another in the evening. As the last groaning 
camel rose to his feet Yusuf pointed out a group of low 
hillocks to the east. “Those are the Hameimat on the 
road to Zieghen,” he said. 

Our plump ally was in a reflective mood that day. 
In spite of considerable heat, he wore the woolly lined 
mackintosh closely buttoned and belted, with a white cloth 
wound over his cheeks. “What is Allah’s greatest gift 
to man?” he propounded to me suddenly. I felt this 
was a test of my faith in Islam, so I promptly replied, 
“The Koran.” He looked at me scornfully. “The 
camel I If there were no camels here, there would be 
no dates, no food, nothing!” He paused and added 
solemnly, “If there were no camels here, there would 
be no men!” 

It is curious how the desert brings out character. 
Hassanein became so vague that he never finished a 
sentence or an action. I developed a fatalism wholly at 
variance with my usual ideas. Yusuf showed signs of 
pride and dignity beneath his plump laziness. Abdullah 
became reserved and impressive as the dunes that guard 
the holy oasis, but Mohammed showed the finest qualities. 
All the Arabs were courageous with an enduring quiet 
heroism that we were to appreciate so a few days later, 
but Mohammed was infinitely kind and his pride was 
a fine, clean thing, bred of silence and religion. He 
made a vow never to ride, and kept it through infinite 
pain. He smiled when certain death was but a few hours 
away. He forgave without words a carelessness that 


130 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 

nearly cost him his life. He laboured unceasingly to 
make everyone else comfortable, and the only time I 
ever saw him lose his calm, aloof patience was when his 
follower, Omar, had been slighted by the soldiers. As 
for the “blacks,” they were a mixture of children and 
animal. When they suffered, they were sulky. When 
praised, they were immensely pleased. Their ideas 
germinated simply and slowly and were impossible to 
dispute. They were alternately brave and cowardly, but 
had no endurance until faced with hopeless danger, on 
which occasion they showed a rather splendid and wholly 
unexpected patience and fidelity. 

We nicknamed the opposing camps “the black 
bears” and the “shepherd kings” after their first bad 
dispute, which took place on the second day. Little 
Abdul Rahim simply had not the physique to walk thirty 
or thirty-eight miles a day, so we were not surprised when 
he silently climbed on to a camel, but when the fat 
Moraj a and various others followed his example I made 
violent protest. Unfortunately, Yusuf joined in, calling 
the soldiers “Slaves!” This fired the fuse, and for a 
few minutes a fight seemed imminent. The corporal 
seized his rifle and Mohammed pulled out his big wooden 
pistol. By this time, however, I was an adept at pouring 
oil on troubled waters and after plentifully applying 
praise to both parties, the atmosphere became calmer. 
Thereafter, however, there was open hostility between 
the two camps. 

We camped at 7 near a group of camel skeletons, 
the bones of which our own camels reflectively sucked. 
It was the only moment in the day that Zeinab and 
Hauwa were in evidence, for they cooked the Arabs’ 
evening meal over a few twigs of wood brought from the 
neighbourhood of Buttafal. All through the long march 
two little shrouded figures, wholly enveloped in coarse, 


ON A WATERLESS WAY 


131 


heavy blankets, huddled motionless, silent on the camels. 
They never looked out of the folds. They never spoke, 
even to each other. I wondered if they ever thought of 
anything in particular, yet one of them, by the strange 
chance of a night’s phantasy, might be the mother of 
the future all-powerful Sheikh es Senussi. In Islam only 
paternity counts. Be the mother slave or princess, the 
eldest son inherits. 

On December 28 we got away at 7.40, and had to 
march for eleven and a half hours before we had done 
46 kilometres. The first day the camels had made a 
good average of over 4 kilometres an hour, for there 
was no temptation to wander in order to graze, but the 
second day everyone was tired and cross, and it was 
difficult to make the men drive them in a straight line. 
The third day the blacks’ feet began to blister. My own 
foot was swollen again. It is very difficult to walk for 
any length of time in the huge heel-less slippers. 
ITassanein and Yusuf were both limping, and Moraja 
could not keep on his legs, for all the veins were inflamed. 
I was so tired I could hardly smile, but, luckily, the 
unexpected distribution of a bag of dates encouraged 
the retinue a little. The mirage distorted two tiny heaps 
of stones into a couple of hills, and Yusuf playfully built 
the last camel skeleton into an original shape with one 
leg lifted high. It was not till I had laughed at its 
fantastic kick that I noticed the human skull that 
crowned it! 

One had to divide one’s attention evenly between the 
two camps. If one walked for an hour with Abdullah, 
and heard how our opponent’s agent in Jedabia had 
tried to bribe him not to accompany the caravan and 
how the said agent had subsequently received the beating 
he deserved, one had to devote the same amount of 
time to conversation with Moraja on the glories of 


132 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


the Sudan and the prowess of her soldiers. It was no 
easy task keeping everyone cheerful during an eleven 
hours’ walk on no food or water. In the evening, after 
we had eaten our half-ration of meat and a handful of 
dates—for we were carrying the least possible amount 
of food—a pathetic procession used to rob us of much- 
needed sleep. We treated blistered and swollen feet, 
headache from the sun, toothache from dates, sores, fever 
and lots of other ailments before we were allowed the 
peace of our flea-bags—very comparative peace, for by 
this time we were suffering seriously from sand-rash! 

December 29 saw us en route at 6.40, and by 
10 o’clock Abdullah stated that we had arrived at the 
Wadi Farig. Personally, looking at it from every angle, 
I could not see the slightest depression of any kind, 
but everyone said it was half-way, so spirits rose high. 
Nevertheless, it was a trying day, for by this time nearly 
everyone was lame. Mohammed could hardly keep on 
his feet, but he doggedly refused to ride. The blacks 
used to walk on half a mile in front of the camels, then 
lie on their faces while their companions stamped on 
their backs, an original form of massage. 

Abdullah picked up a piece of ostrich eggshell dropped 
by a passing caravan from Wadai. “Seventy years ago 
there was ostriches here,” he informed us with doubtful 
accuracy. “What did they eat?” I asked. “Oh, food, 
much food!” he answered vaguely. 

There was a short shower in the evening which inter¬ 
fered with the cooking but provided a little extra water. 
We were very anxious about our supply, for the first 
day one of our fanatis had leaked and the blacks had 
availed themselves of the excuse to empty it during the 
night. We used to arrange the girbas outside our tent 
and dele out the water ourselves. Several of the new 
girbas leaked badly and in spite of the utmost care we 


ON A WATERLESS WAY 


133 


thought everyone would be extremely thirsty by the 
seventh day. We ourselves drank one cup of hot coffee 
in the morning and two cups of cold tea or water at 
night. We camped that day at 6.10 p.m. 

December 30 we started at 7 a.m. and camped at 
6.35 p.m. It was a terribly hot day and the camels were 
nearly as crocked as the men. One had cut a foot, and 
another had a raw shoulder. Two had bad sore backs, so 
their loads had to be divided among the others. In spite 
of this some of the soldiers had to be allowed to ride, for 
their feet were badly swollen. The country had changed 
slightly, for faint waves of sand had marked the neigh¬ 
bourhood of the Wadi Farig, but the flatness of the disk 
was now unimpaired, though its yellow monotony was 
broken by patches of dark gravel. This gave the mirage 
a chance to build ebony hills and islands amidst its blue, 
shifting waves. 

December 31 we started at 6.30 a.m. and walked 
till 7 p.m., doing 46 kilometres, because the situation 
had suddenly become very serious. The previous day 
Abdullah had surprised us by insisting on a slightly 
south-easterly course, as he had not yet seen a small 
landmark on the Zieghen route. When we had talked 
the matter over in Jalo he had assured us calmly and 
strongly that he had been to Taiserbo and knew the 
route. We had cross-questioned him severely, and 
always he had been confident of being able to guide us 
to any of the southern oases, though he had urged us 
not to go to Buseima on account of the danger of being 
attacked. 

Now according to our map it was 350 kilometres from 
Buttafal to Taiserbo. It was generally stated by the 
Arabs to be a seven days’ journey, which was a daily 
march of eleven to twelve hours at an average of four 
and a fraction kilometres an hour. Therefore, in spite 


134 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


of Abdullah’s change of direction, according to the 
mileage we had done, we should have been well within 
the oases that night. We had confidently expected it 
the previous evening, when we noticed a certain vague¬ 
ness about our guide. “Don’t talk to him, or he will 
lose his head,” said Mohammed on the sixth day. It 
is looked upon as a definite disease, like fever, this 
losing the head on the part of the guides. It was 
extraordinary to see the change in the Beduin’s face that 
day. The whole outline of his features seemed to have 
become blurred, while his eyes were restless and troubled. 
He stooped as he walked and kept asking if we thought 
he was going straight, so that by the end of that day 
we had to direct him by the map, which we had every 
reason to believe inaccurate. It must be remembered 
that while we always knew roughly where we were, we 
never knew where Taiserbo was. We started half-rations 
for the camels on the 31st and tried to cut down the 
water ration still more, though since the girbas had 
begun to leak we had dispensed with the half-cupful for 
washing. 

New Year’s Day dawned gloomily. We had two 
half-feeds for the camels and barely enough water for 
two days at less than a pint per day per person. We 
were, however, a little cheered up when, as we were 
loading the camels, Abdullah pointed out a faint blur to 
the east and said it was Mazeel, some hillocks he had 
hoped to see the previous day. On clear mornings, about 
an hour after dawn, when the desert is very flat, a mirage 
of the country about a day’s journey distant appears on 
the horizon. For a few minutes one sees a picture of what 
is some 50 kilometres farther on. The Arabs call it “the 
country turning upside down.” On January 1, the 
seventh day of our march, we saw this mirage for the 
first time—brushwood and hillocks quite clearly to the 


ON A WATERLESS WAY 


135 


south, yet our guide turned deliberately west of it. 
My camel was ill after his unaccustomed date-feeding. 
Hassanein was in great pain from his blistered feet. A 
permanent north wind, warring for a week with a burn¬ 
ing sun, had implanted rheumatism in my right shoulder. 
The firewood had given out, and there had been a sharp 
quarrel between the blacks and the Beduins on this 
account, each accusing the other of using more than their 
share. 

Abdullah kept on his south-westerly course for a few 
hours, and then began to wander slightly. The blacks 
wanted to beat him. Even Mohammed was impatient 
with him. We steered almost due south. Hassanein 
had to ride all day and Mohammed’s eyes were bloodshot 
with the pain of his feet, yet he struggled on. That night 
there were no fires in the camp, and I fully expected 
Abdullah would be murdered. However, when I woke 
before the dawn on January 2, I heard him laughing, 
so hoped he had recovered his head. We dared not start 
till “the country had turned upside down” and revealed 
to us what lay in front, so we occupied ourselves in find¬ 
ing our exact position. According to our map we were 
now within the borders of Taiserbo! This raised the 
problem of whether it were one consecutive oasis or 
whether it were possible to go between two groups of 
palms without seeing either! 

At 8 a.m. the mirage showed us one sharp dime very 
much to the west. I wanted to go straight there, hoping 
by sunset to be able to climb it and have a good view of 
what lay beyond, but both Abdullah and Moraj a insisted 
that no such dune lay anywhere near Taiserbo. “If we 
go as much west as that we go straight to Hell,” said 
the guide decisively. With the ever-present danger of 
going beyond Taiserbo into the uninhabited western 
desert it was impossible to argue. With only one day’s 


136 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


water and no fodder we dared not risk everything so 
boldly, but I there and then made up my mind that 
Taiserbo was smaller and much farther west than is 
generally supposed. I believe if we had gone to that 
dune we might have reached it. At that moment a thick, 
icy mist came down and blotted out everything, so I 
decided to go south for five hours, in which case, according 
to Jalo information and our map, we should have gone 
right through Taiserbo and possibly be able to recognise 
some landmarks near Buseima. 

It was a terrible walk. Everyone knew that, humanly 
speaking, they were going to die of thirst within a day 
or two. Nearly everyone had blistered feet, and no one 
had had enough to eat, ye*fc everyone laughed. “It is 
evidently the will of Allah that we die,” said Farraj 
politely, “but no one will die before Sidi Abdullah.” I 
doubt if the guide heard. He trailed along with a blank, 
dispirited stare, first edging west, then east. Mohammed 
was tottering on swollen feet. “I think that I would 
rather die beside my luggage,” he said placidly. “Doubt¬ 
less Abdullah and Yusuf would like to wander about to 
the end, but I do not know this country, Hamdulillah it 
will be quick!” Thereafter everyone spoke of death, 
and I was amazed at the way they calmly accepted its 
advent. The only thing that stimulated them was the 
demise of the guide. “By Allah, Sidi Abdullah shall go 
first and show us the way!” said the toothless one. 
“When I am certain of death I shall shoot him,” said 
Sharki firmly. “But he called you a fool yesterday,” 
reminded Farraj. This worried Shakri for a moment. 
Then he cheered up. “I will call him a fool first, and 
then I will shoot him,” he said. Amidst this cheerful 
conversation the mist suddenly lifted and revealed nothing 
but the same flat, pale sand devoid of faintest shadow of 
grass or brushwood to give hope of an oasis. 


ON A WATERLESS WAY 


137 


It is amazing how desperation affects one. That 
morning Hassanein could not put his foot on the ground, 
but when he realised that his end was imminent he 
walked for eight hours without feeling pain. Mohammed 
also forgot his ills and I found myself wondering how 
soon I should awake from this realistic nightmare. When 
our southern course produced nothing but fanciful blue 
lakes and pools—for a burning sun now added to our woes 
—we took council and, ignoring Abdullah, decided to 
march east-south-east till water and camels gave out. 
There were several chances of salvation on this new bear¬ 
ing, we thought, for we might hit the most easterly end 
of Taiserbo if it were anywhere near its mapped position, 
or we might find ourselves in the recognisable country 
south of Zieghen or among the dunes near Buseima. We 
supposed these places to be too far away to reach with 
the camels, but if we could get anywhere near we could 
send a messenger for help and lie down to await his 
return. We knew there was a little water in the tins of 
vegetables, and hoped that if we kept very still this would 
keep us all alive for an extra day. 

It was a terrible afternoon of mirage. I do not know 
whether weariness had affected our eyes, but on every 
side we saw hills, dunes, brushwood, and always they 
were the same dark patches of gravel. “It is a simple 
route to Taiserbo/’ had said the kaimakaan at Jalo, 
“but one mistake means destruction!” Had we really 
made the one mistake? Curiously enough, I felt no anger 
against Abdullah, even when he suddenly acknowledged 
he had not been to Taiserbo for twenty years. In fact, 
an odd fatalism had absorbed us all. The Beduins began 
discussing other disasters on these terrible southern 
routes. 

One man had died within fifteen yards of the water he 
had failed to find in time. Another, whose water had gone 


138 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


bad on the Kufara route, had been found dead beside his 
camels, one of which he had killed for its blood. The 
blacks took an impersonal interest in these gruesome tales 
while they walked on with stolid calm. I gave them our 
last bag of dates, but warned them it would probably 
make them very thirsty. They replied with extreme 
cheerfulness that they did not want to drink in the least. 
They were really splendid that afternoon. They sang 
and laughed and cheered each other on. Little Abdul 
Rahim stalked on ahead with a grim smile, his rifle over 
his shoulder, his weakness forgotten. The only really 
dispirited member of the party was Abdullah, who trailed 
along at the heels of the caravan with downcast head. 
Once, when a low rise appeared to the south, he walked 
briskly towards it in hopes of a further view, but returned 
an hour later more gloomy than ever. The hot midday 
hours dragged along intolerably slowly. I did not feel 
very thirsty myself, but we had all drunk so little lately 
that our skins had become extraordinarily dry and parched. 
Our lips and gums were cracked and sore. The camels 
had had only a half-ration of dates the previous day and 
nothing that morning, so they were ravenous. They 
tried to eat the stuffing of the baggage saddles, and ran 
to every dark patch of stones in search of grass. 

At 3 p.m. some faint dunes appeared on the south¬ 
east horizon. We expected Abdullah to recognise them, 
but his demoralisation must have been complete, for he 
showed no interest in them. Yusuf and Moraj a began 
speculating as to whether they could be the “hatia” 
which ran between Zieghen and Taiserbo. If so, there 
might be vegetation on the farther side and the mystery 
of our position be solved. Nearly everyone ran on ahead, 
and only Abdul Hafiz and Omar were left to drive the 
camels, who were stumbling badly. It was their ninth 
day without water, but this mattered less than the 


ON A WATERLESS WAY 


139 


scarcity of food. For an exhausting hour everyone 
struggled along at their best pace, limping, wavering, 
with parched mouths and bloodshot eyes, before which 
danced the tantalising sheets of water and cool, dark 
mirage hills. Suddenly Yusuf, who was on ahead, flung 
himself on his face and embraced the earth, afterwards 
executing a wild, bareheaded dance, during which he 
waved his long kufiya on the end of his stick. We 
rushed to join him and found him lovingly stroking a 
little mound covered with dry, brittle sticks. “It is 
brushwood-hattab,” he said simply. “Inshallah! There 
is more beyond.” Two other mounds appeared shortly 
with a little coarse, green shrub, over which the camels 
fought and struggled till the last scrap had disappeared. 
By this time sunset was near and we had to force our 
unsteady, aching limbs into a run to reach those elusive 
dunes in time to catch the clear, far view devoid of 
mirage that always comes at sunset. It was a pathetic 
race of the halt and the lame in which Hassanein and I 
were out-distanced. We saw the others clamber up the 
dune—we saw them stand gazing eastwards—and then 
we saw them sink motionless in silent groups. I think 
at that moment I felt our death warrant was sealed. I 
turned hopelessely to my plucky companion. “It is no 
good. They would have danced if it had been the 
‘hatia.’ ” “Yes, they would have made a noise,” he 
said dully. 

We crawled up to the top of the ridge, a series of 
wavy, curling dunes running north-west to south-east, 
expecting to see the same level, monotonous country that 
lay behind us. Instead, we were amazed to look down 
over a few lower dunes to an entirely changed tract. On 
every side were uneven mounds and hillocks covered with 
decayed scrub, leafless and brown, but a few hundred 
yards in front was a cluster of huge green bushes. 


140 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


We could not understand the apathy of the soldiers, 
who were dejectedly rolling pebbles down the slope. 
“Surely there is water there,” I exclaimed impatiently. 
“Wallahi! But that Abdullah does not know!” said 
Farraj. “He says only that it is not the Zeighen 
country.” As I ran down the dune the camels literally 
rushed past me to the patch of green. But they did not 
eat. Apparently the great feathery bushes were not 
fodder, and the only other things among the mounds 
were a couple of skeletons to which the hooves and chest 
pads still clung. “This place is El Atash—the thirst,” 
said Abdullah suddenly. “There is an old well here, but 
its water will kill you! It is salt and bad.” 

At the time we were obliged to rely on his statement, 
but since then I have discovered that he was entirely 
mistaken. The water at El Atash is brackish, but quite 
wholesome and the well can be dug out at any time. 
It is only filled up with sand because travellers never 
come there unless they have lost their way and are driven 
to the disused well by thirst—El Atash! There was 
plenty of brushwood, so we built enormous fires to cheer 
ourselves up, but we could cook nothing without water. 
The blacks ate macaroni dry and the Arabs tried flour, 
though we offered them our tinned meats. The soldiers 
had a cupful of water each, but the Beduins had none, 
so we had to share our last hoarded bottle with them. 
We dared not eat our meat ration because of the salt, so 
we sucked malted milk tablets and eagerly drank the 
water from some tinned carrots which were cool and 
damp. Then we tore up the baggage saddles to give the 
straw stuffing to the camels, for we thought we could 
manage one more day’s march by riding. 

The morning of January 3 was misty. Ripples of 
white fog blurred the landscape, while we silently loaded 
the camels, using blankets, tents, anything soft as pads 


ON A WATERLESS WAY 


141 


to support the panniered luggage. We ate a tin of 
spinach because it was wet, but it was a hollow-eyed 
procession that started due east along the “hatia” in 
the hope of hitting one of the wells in the neighbourhood 
of Zieghen. Abdullah had held out many hopes the 
night before, but now all he would say was “Inshallah!” 
We left El Atash at 7.30 and toiled laboriously round 
the small mounds which looked so oddly like graves. 
Three green ones gave the camels a little respite, but 
there was no sign of the “gherds” (dunes) that generally 
mark the presence of water. The whole retinue spread 
out in a straggling line across the horizon, marching east, 
and every faint rise was passionately scanned and dis¬ 
cussed. At last Mohammed said, “If you cut my throat 
now you will not find one drop of blood,” referring to 
the Arab idea that when a man is in fear of death all 
the blood in his body rushes to his head. “It is time 
that Sidi Abdullah dies,” said Farraj firmly, his finger on 
the trigger, and then, of course, the unexpected, the im¬ 
possible, happened, and a faint dark blur appeared on 
the horizon. 

I have no recollection at all of the next two hours. 
Whether I walked or rode or ran I do not know. What 
happened to the others I have no idea. My whole being 
was concentrated on those green mounds, which con¬ 
tinually vanished and reappeared until at last they con¬ 
solidated at 2.30 p.m. into a few clustered palms and some 
“gherds” covered with stubble. I remember tottering 
down a hollow and seeing some nude black figures madly 
scooping up sand, and then a silent little group crouched 
pitifully on the edge of the freshly dug pit that meant 
life or death. The water came very slowly, for they had 
chosen a bad place in their hurry, but it came. Oozing 
through damp sand, the first muddy pool brought all the 
primitive emotions to our hearts—joy, relief, gratitude, 


142 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


too deep for words! An hour or two later life had 
become normal again and the deepening water brought 
us only the idea of a hearty meal and a bath in the biggest 
receptacle in the canteen. 

I wonder how many readers will understand the tale 
of those three days, because being lost in Europe means 
merely an appeal to a map or a passer-by, but in Libya 
there is often no well for several hundred miles, and, 
perchance, two caravans a year or none at all! A few, 
just a very few, will comprehend: quiet men with 
tired, keen eyes—an Italian after whom a Tripolitanian 
“gebel” is named, half a dozen Frenchmen scattered 
over the great white desert south of Insalah, any 
Australian who has been bushed without water and cer¬ 
tainly one or two Englishmen in strange, sunburned 
corners of our ruthless Empire! 

We camped near the largest clump of palms within 
sight of the blessed well, and all afternoon I lay on my 
camp bed with my “zemzimaya” beside me, drinking 
every few minutes and when I could not drink any more 
I would shake it now and then to hear the delicious 
clutter of the water inside. In spite of all this joy we 
were not really out of the wood yet, for the “hatia” 
contained practically no forage. The camels were all 
feeble after their long journey and the fast at the end 
of it. They had to be driven here and there, from small 
bush to smaller tuft. It was a laborious business for 
our tired men and I had to leave my water-bottle once 
or twice to see how matters were progressing. Abdullah 
and Abdul Hafiz were very anxious that night, for the 
camels would not drink properly, so we tore up some 
straw mats, soaked them, and gave them to the beasts. 
I wanted to try them with rice, but Abdul Hafiz said they 
would die if they ate it. 

Our guide had recovered some of his calm when he 


ON A WATERLESS WAY 


143 


realised that we were camping at El Atash in the Zieghen 
district, at least a day and a half to two days’ journey 
east of the elusive Taiserbo. I was delighted when I 
understood this, for fate was obviously giving me a 
chance of accomplishing my old desire for travelling to 
Buseima by the uncharted route which had tempted me 
at Jalo. 

I explained this to the retinue, and was met with 
blank dismay. They wanted to go to Zieghen and then 
safely by the caravan route to Kufara. They assured me 
that Buseima was most dangerous, that a particularly 
savage portion of the Zouia tribe dwelt there and attacked 
every strange caravan at sight. I gathered that while 
Kufara is a large and imposing group of oases round the 
belad of the holy qubba, a big desert market and the 
centre of the whole Sahara trade, besides being the head¬ 
quarters of the Senussi Government and the sacred 
headquarters of its religion, Buseima, although very 
sparsely inhabited, is also to a minor extent a “business 
centre,” for caravans from Wadai and Jalo visit it. 
There is no zawia there and no Government official. 
The Zouias fiercely assert their independence and refuse 
to admit the complete authority of the Sayeds in order 
to avoid paying taxes in money, although they pay great 
respect to the Senussi family and to their wishes. They 
have never seen a soldier within their boundaries, and 
on no account allow a stranger of any race or sect to 
enter their country. 

“If they do not kill us in the oasis,” said Yusuf dole¬ 
fully, “they will lie in wait for us outside among the 
dunes and murder us on our way to Kufara.” I said that 
I thought we could massacre a few Zouias first, but even 
Mohammed was frightened. “It is a bad country,” he 
remarked. “Why did not Allah allow us to reach 
Taiserbo in safety? There is a zawia there and I have 


144 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


heard of the sheikh, Sidi Mohammed. His brother was 
with me at the Jaghabub zawia.” 

I asked about the tribes in Taiserbo and was told that 
it was the second largest oasis, but unimportant and 
sparsely inhabited, that many of the date-trees belonged 
to the people in Buseima, that there were a few Tebus 
and some Zouias, of whom the larger part were Senussi. 
“There are different parties there,” said Moraja, “but 
they are all good people—nahs taibeen. Beyond Taiserbo 
is a country of fighting. No stranger may go there. 
There is much danger. If we escape the Buseima people 
we shall fall into the hands of the Tebus of Ribiana or 
of wandering Tuareg bands.” 

In spite of these gloomy prognostications I pointed 
out that the camels certainly could not go five days to 
Kufara without food and that I had no intention whatso¬ 
ever of trusting Abdullah’s ideas as to the location of 
Taiserbo. Instead, I made the guide and Moraja each 
draw his idea of the famous gebel at Buseima. They 
both outlined in the sand a long, low, square-topped ridge. 
“Very well,” said I firmly. “At sunset we will climb 
to the top of the largest gherd here and see if we cannot 
locate that mountain!” Having once and for all put our 
decorative but useless map out of our heads, we were 
able to reason out that Taiserbo lay to the west, ran 
north-east and south-west and could not be more than 
25 to 40 kilometres in length, while I pinned my faith 
to due south for Buseima. 

The desert had nearly killed us in her most ruthless 
mood, but when we mounted the sandy gherd and saw 
the red splendour fade into cold mauve and grey of the 
sand, while the evening star blazed as if it were a drop of 
liquid flame in a sapphire cup, we forgave her, especially 
as due south, just exactly where “instinct” had sug¬ 
gested to us, a faint black ridge rose, low and square, 


V f ' 



CARAVAN IN DUNE COUNTRY NEAR BUSEIMA 



THE FIRST MEETING BETWEEN TIIE FAQRUN FAMILY 
AND OUR PARTY AT BUSEIMA 









































♦ 


* 




♦ 




7 































































» 




* 















ON A WATERLESS WAY 


145 


over the horizon. I took some bearings for fear of mirage 
and ordered an early start next morning in spite of wild 
protestations and appeals. 

As a matter of fact, everyone was so tired that we did 
not get off till 7.30. The camels groaned plaintively 
and continuously, refusing to rise from their knees. I 
had insisted on filling girbas enough for a four days’ 
march, though Abdullah said it was only two, and with 
no saddles it was difficult to balance the packs on rolled 
blankets and canvas. All that day was a weary succession 
of changing loads. When one camel sank wearily down 
and refused to move, we dragged off his load and placed 
it on another. No one rode, however blistered were his 
feet. Some of the blacks had raw toe joints, but we dared 
not risk the camels further. After about three hours we 
left the little mounds and sparse sticks of the “hatia” 
and the unbroken sands lay in great flat waves before us. 
We stopped at the last moment to pick the brittle wood 
for our evenings fires, and then marched on steadily till 
6 P.M. 

The “gara” of Buseima appeared suddenly at 12.30. 
It looked like a solid, black ridge on the horizon, but we 
knew it was more than a day’s journey away. The 
camels wandered and lagged and stumbled. I doubt if 
we did more than 2 miles an hour. In the afternoon 
the sand waves developed into hard dunes, low and 
round-backed. We could no longer make straight for 
the black mark in the distance, but had to swerve east¬ 
ward to avoid the higher dunes. About four I thought 
the camels could not go another step. Several of them 
lay down at the same time, but somehow we got them 
to their feet again, chiefly by dint of song! The 
reiterated refrains of the Sudanese had a great effect on 
the weary beasts, but never had the barraking cry 
“Adaryayan!” “We have arrived at the house, oh sick 


146 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


ones!” sounded more welcome. It was the cool, pale 
hour that precedes night when we encamped in a great 
hollow among white dunes. The stars were triumphing 
over the last glowing rays of the sunset and the mys¬ 
terious mountain that had fired my imagination for 
so long lay, violet-hued and sombre, to the south. 

Next morning, January 5, we again started at 7.30 
and plunged immediately into a maze of dunes, great, 
curved, hard-backed ones, with a few soft patches in the 
hollows into which the camels sank, protesting. They 
walked rather better than the previous day in spite of 
a continual series of ascents and descents. Perhaps it 
was the sight of the strange, sinister ridge in front, coal- 
black against the surrounding white sand. Perhaps it 
was the very cold south wind which blistered our faces 
as we moved into it. At any rate, at 12.30 we arrived 
at the mysterious gebel which had first appeared as a 
solid, even ridge with a flat top, had then added to itself 
a sort of squarish, sugar-loaf hill at each end and now 
turned out not to be a ridge at all but a chain of cliffs, 
some square, some roundish, but all of sombre dull black 
stone with faint reddish patches. To my eyes, uninitiated 
into the by-ways of geology, it looked like a vast volcanic 
eruption, for passing east of the main body of the hills, 
we entered a veritable inferno of desolation. Right in 
the middle of the white, curly sand dunes lay a tract of 
about 8 kilometres of scattered black stones. Their 
brittle sheets of ebony matter stood up in lines—it looked 
as if all the old slates in the world had been flung in care¬ 
less piles in this dreary region. Experts later informed 
me that the black stone was Nubian sandstone im¬ 
pregnated with iron and manganese, nothing volcanic at 
all. The other stones were sandstones of lighter colour, 
fossilised wood, and flints. 

For two hours we stumbled and clattered over this 


ON A WATERLESS WAY 


147 


blistered, black waste, picking up specimens of as many 
kinds of stone as possible and then, as we clambered up 
a rough bank between two of the sombre sheer-cut hills, 
the long line of Buseima palms spread before us with 
the thin silver strip of lake—real water, no mirage—that 
had seemed to be but a fable of Jedabia imagination! 
Till we reached the stony track by the gara we had 
marched in very businesslike formation—three soldiers 
ahead, the camels in the middle, and scouts flung out on 
the highest dunes, while everyone had rifle or revolver 
ready. Abdullah, himself a Zouia, had mocked the 
blacks with “Look out, you soldiers, for now you are 
coming to the land where men fight!” and therefore 
every slave was athirst for battle and revenge! 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE LAKE IN THE DESERT 

W HEN we drew level with the hills Abdullah 
decided to go on ahead and explain our harmless 
design and see if it would be possible for us to 
camp in the oasis. I was amused to see that even he 
would not go into the belad without his rifle, while 
the rest of the retinue implored me to take only food 
for the camels and then go on to Kufara, but I was not 
going to be cheated of my lake and my mountain, the 
first I had seen in Libya! I drove them protesting down 
the stony slope to where the desolation ended in a little 
sandy wadi full of huge palm clusters and coarse brown 
vegetation, half grass, half moss. White Abdullah tested 
the feelings of the two villages, one at either end of the 
long strip of palms that border the lake, we set up our 
tents in the usual camping-ground and I turned the 
opening of mine to face the mountain, now purple and 
ruddy in the afternoon sun. 

The soldiers, still overwhelmed with visions of a night 
attack, urged us to avoid the green clumps, to whose 
welcome shade we clung, and pitch our tent in the open 
on the edge of the stony waste, but we refused, and soon 
Abdullah returned with news that the brother of the 
sheikh el zawia at Taiserbo lived in Buseima and was 
coming to see us. Our guide brought with him a pale- 
faced sister with great velvet eyes, and heavy silver 
necklace mixed with many leathern amulets. She gave 
us a kid-skin full of very good large dates, for her 
148 


THE LAKE IN THE DESERT 


149 


husband owned palms and gardens in Buseima, and the 
retinue began to cheer up. 

We were just preparing cqffee and rejoicing in our 
first really clean date—for up to then all we had eaten 
had been plentifully flavoured with sand—when Sidi 
Mohammed el Madeni, the brother of the Taiserbo 
sheikh, with Sidi Omar and Sidi Bu Regea, arrived, 
prepared to welcome us most hospitably in the name of 
the Sayed. It appeared that the brother of the former 
was in Kufara at the moment, so we should have missed 
him had we arrived in Taiserbo. Abdullah made tea 
and I made coffee, and we all sat round a little zariba with 
our backs to the sun and our feet to the startling cliffs. 
“Fadhling” had begun again, and this time we learned 
many things, all because when we asked if the water 
were good, Sidi Mohammed said, “In the Nasrani well 
it is very sweet!’’ “Nasrani? Did a Christian make it?” 
“Yes; many years ago a Christian came here, flying 
from Kufara, where he had lost all his belongings, 
and he dug that well.” At last we had found Rohlfs’ 
traces! In great excitement we followed the lead the 
sheikhs had unwittingly given. After an hour’s con¬ 
versation we discovered that a man called Korayim Bu 
Abd Rabu had protected Rohlfs in Kufara and saved his 
life by escaping with him to Benghazi, and that his son, 
Hamid Bu Korayim, was then in Kufara. They recog¬ 
nised the name of Bukr Bu Guettin as the man who 
wished to murder Rohlfs and said that his son, Mansur, 
was now living in Jedabia. They knew nothing of the 
German’s southern journey, but with regard to his state¬ 
ment that he had gone from Jalo to Taiserbo in four 
and a half days, they said it was quite possible, as in 
olden times the Zouias always used to ride the waterless 
stretch without stopping and eat their meals on their 
camels. Sidi el Mahdi and the Senussi family had started 


150 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


the fashion of travelling more slowly and camping by 
the way. 

The curious thing was they all said that when Rohlfs 
escaped from Kufara and passed through Ruseima in his 
flight, he was alone with Korayim, whereas he speaks of 
having three Germans with him. The name by which 
they recognised the Teuton explorer was Mustapha Bey. 
Oddly enough, Sidi Omar and Bu Regea proved to be 
nephews of Haballah el Abed, mentioned by Rohlfs as 
the head of the Ait Anira, part of the Zouia tribe at 
Kufara, and a descendant of the last Tebu sultan, while 
Abdullah turned out to be a near relation of the same 
chief. 

We tried to discover where in the Kufara oasis the 
fight had taken place. “There was no fight,” they said. 
“The man was a Nasrani. He came without the per¬ 
mission of Sidi el Mahdi, who was then at Jaghabub. He 
deserved to die. His caravan was eaten up by Bu Guettin 
and the Zouias and he did not go to the belads at all.” 
“Where did he camp, then?” I asked. “We do not 
know,” they said. “We were young then. Senussi 
influence had only just started. There , were but four 
ekhwan in Kufara, but the Nasrani did not go into the 
country.” It was impossible to pin them down to details, 
but they evidently believed that the gallant Teuton had 
camped on the outskirts of Kufara and been obliged to 
retire after the loss of his caravan. To our amusement 
neither Abdullah nor our two visitors were proud of their 
connexion with the Tebu sultan. “It was before Islam,” 
they said. “The Tebawiya were infidels—Kufara!” 

We asked if there were any of these savages left in 
Buseima and were told that the Tebus were rapidly 
dying out and while some had been converted to Islam 
and continued living in Kufara and Taiserbo, the 
remainder had ensconced themselves in Ribiana. Our 


THE LAKE IN THE DESERT 


151 


informant added that when the Zouias made their 
voluntary submission to Sidi Ben Ali es Senussi the 
Tebus were already their servants or slaves, for they 
had been originally conquered by the Fawai tribe, who 
had been forced to give way to the Ghawazi, who in their 
turn had fallen before the prowess of the fighting 
Zouias. This tribe originally came from the Fezzan, where 
some of the stock still exist in the Aulad Bu Hassan. 

We went to bed that night feeling really truimphant, 
for the shadows that for so long had veiled the strange 
Libyan oasis were being gradually rolled away. At the 
same time we realised how difficult it is to dig out even 
recent history from the cautious Arab brain. We were 
anxious to open a Tebu tomb, but in order to do so we 
had to talk for nearly an hour about Egyptian mummies, 
so that we could ask if perchance the infidels who used 
to live in Buseima had buried their dead in the same way. 
I must acknowledge that Sidi Mohammed el Madeni was 
the most intelligent and broad-minded Arab whom I have 
met. From him we learnt much of the history of the 
spread of the Senussi influence through the Sahara, and 
he offered to show us all over the oasis on the following 
day. 

We woke late on January 6 and found both our 
watches had stopped, but the sun was strong, so we 
imagined it must be about 8, and hurried through a 
breakfast of coffee, dates and unleavened bread in order 
to begin our voyage of exploration. Our start, however, 
was delayed by a furious quarrel between the blacks and 
the Beduins as to whose duty it was to re-make the 
baggage saddles and fetch water for the camp. For once 
I discarded soothing words and rated them all so soundly 
that in a few moments the toothless Farraj was creeping 
off in one direction with a girba and Shakri positively 
running to the wadi in search of “leaf.” Earlier in the 


152 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


morning there had been another squabble as to who 
should go to the village for the festal sheep. We now 
learned that the Sudanese dared not approach the village 
singly. They had spent most of the night on sentry 
duty of the most primitive kind. They had made a fire 
and sat well within its light, so that no lurking marauder 
would have had the slightest difficulty in shooting them 
at all. They also talked at the top of their voices, which 
disturbed our sleep and naturally after such unusual 
energy they were feeling cross and tired. The arrival of 
the black and white sheep, led by the undismayed Omar, 
cheered them up somewhat, and we left them already 
making plans for its division. 

It is generally impossible to buy food in the desert 
oases. There are no regular customers and no suq. Each 
family produces enough for its own consumption only. 
Thus neither bread, eggs nor milk were forthcoming, 
though we were reported rich. Dates are always an 
exception to the rule. A mejidie buys a great sackful 
and though Buseima and Ribiana do not pay taxes in 
money, they feed the Sayed’s camels free when they 
happen to pass through. They also pay a percentage of 
sacks of dates yearly to the Government. An official 
comes from Kufara to collect them. Faqrun offered us 
some of those that were stored ready for removal. “You 
are the Sayed’s guests. You have a right to them,” he 
said. Though there was no fodder or grass for our beasts, 
there were plentiful date rations. We had bargained 
endlessly over the sheep with a strong-minded female in 
the attractive Buseima dress—white tobh with scarlet 
girdle, a black cloth wound closely round the face like 
a nun’s coif and the barracan of rose and saffron just 
doubled and flung over her head like a great shawl. 
Finally, we bought it for fourteen mejidies, and a small 
boy suddenly appeared with ten eggs, for which he asked 


THE LAKE IN THE DESERT 


153 


a mejidie (fivepence) each! Abdullah contributed the 
most bitter goat’s milk I have ever tasted, mixed with 
fresh laghbi—the juice of the palm, which ferments after 
twenty-four hours and makes a very potent liquor. The 
stern Senussi law decrees that anyone getting drunk on 
laghbi shall be flogged and fined. 

After all disputes were settled we mounted the two 
least weary camels and started picking our way across 
the waste of salt that lay between our camp at one end 
of the semi-circular strip of palms and the village at the 
other. It was difficult going, because the salt was caked 
in hard and uneven formation, but it was a wonderful 
morning, vividly clear and cool in spite of a brilliant sun. 
To the east of us lay the chain of cliffs, no longer black, 
but purplish red, against the pale dunes beyond. To the 
west was an iridescent blue lake about eight kilometres 
long, very salt, so that no fish can live in it, but exquisitely 
translucent. Beyond it was the border of massed palms 
and the faintly coral sands, for the reddish dust from the 
gebel tints the neighbouring country. 

Half-way across the salt waste we were met by Sidi 
Mohammed, and before we left it the whole male popula¬ 
tion of Buseima had joined us. Our amusement may be 
imagined when we discovered that it numbered about 
a score! Including men, women and children, I don’t 
believe that there were more than fifty human beings 
in the danger spot that all our fully armed retinue were 
mortally afraid to approach! Thereafter we had the 
profoundest distrust of the far-spread tales of marauding 
bands and murdered caravans. 

I also came to the conclusion that the Senussi influence 
was much more firmly established in the smaller oasis 
than is generally supposed. Sidi Mohammed had kissed 
the Sayed’s letter and touched his eyelids with it and the 
important Faqrun family, about whose loyalty our retinue 


154 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


had entertained the gravest doubts, had only waited to 
welcome us until they were/certain we were under the 
protection of Sidi Idris. Once assured of this, the 
tworbrothers Faqrun, Maihub and Salah, met us most 
amicably and showed us the ruins of a Tebu village on 
the north-west shore of the lake. The Tebawiya must 
have led cramped existences, for their houses are tiny and 
of an odd formation, a series of small, round constructions 
like immense native ovens. Some of them had three or 
four of these round “rooms” clustered together without 
regular order, like the cells in a honeycomb. They were 
made of stones and quite hard mortar, and were window¬ 
less unless there had originally been some windows higher 
up. Unfortunately they were all roofless, the highest 
walls being about 15 feet 8 inches. Only one door gave 
access even to the biggest clusters. 

Before we came to these ruins we passed east of one 
of the smaller round hills of the Gara and faint traces 
of a Tebu fort were pointed out to us. There had been 
another on the main cliff of the gebel opposite, so the 
Tebu must have been a warrior race. These forts would 
have been impregnable, situated on the top of almost 
perpendicular rocks, commanding a view of the surround¬ 
ing country 50 kilometres on every side and, moreover, 
showing a very good idea of defence, for they must have 
utilised various ridges of rock as walls and barricades. 
On the main gebel are some Tebu tombs, but they are 
difficult to find among the mass of stones. These primi¬ 
tive people were buried in a sitting position exactly as 
Rohlfs describes the one he saw in Taiserbo, but gener¬ 
ally they have sheepskins wound round them. Apparently 
they had no knowledge of textiles and wore only skins. 

The main village of Buseima, at the north-west end 
of the lake, with well-kept and well-fenced date gardens, 
in which grow a few vegetables and fig-trees, stretching 


THE LAKE IN THE DESERT 


155 


to the water’s edge, was another surprise to us, for it 
contained but six houses, square buildings with solid, well- 
constructed walls, and regular, neatly finished yards, with 
strong wooden doors. They looked neat and comfort¬ 
able, and had none of the crumbling aspect so common 
to Arab villages. Here we left the men of Buseima after 
they had promised to come and share our woolly sheep 
with us in the evening. Sidi Mohammed continued the 
tour of the lake to show us the Bir Nasrani, a tiny hollow 
at the roots of a great clump of palms. We had brought 
our fanatis to fill, as this was supposed to be the best water 
in the oasis and, while two blacks were slowly scooping 
up the cold liquid, we “fadhled” in the shade and drew 
maps in the sand, locating the elusive Taiserbo where 
“each man sticks to his village and never goes beyond 
it; so no one meets them or hears about them.” Ribiana, 
we found, lay a day and a half’s journey due south, 
through bad sands, which put it in the middle of Kufara 
(Kebabo) according to our map. 

After leaving the well we skirted round the whole of 
the outer shore of the lake and wondered if we had 
wandered into fairyland by mistake. It seemed incredible 
that after fourteen days in the intolerable sands, unchang¬ 
ing and characterless, we should be in an iridescent 
setting of turquoise, emerald and amethyst. Buseima is 
the loveliest oasis I have ever seen, with its strange, ruddy 
hills—jewels purple and crimson reflected in the silver 
salt mirage which girdles the bluest lake in the world. 
All this colour is clear-cut against the soft, pale dunes. 
It is seen through a frame of drooping palm branches with 
perhaps a rose-hued figure, scarlet sashed, guarding a 
flock of goats by a dark pool among high green rushes. 
Time stood still for us that day as we wandered slowly 
on from green of the palms to gold of the sands and so 
back to our tents in the wadi. We had eaten nothing 


156 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


since the date and damper breakfast, so we urged Faraj 
to cook some part of the sheep—which now hung in neat 
portions in the thickest palm clump—as speedily as 
possible, but certainly our day was out of gear, for the 
sun set as the smiling black triumphantly produced our 
lunch—a raw-looking leg of mutton in a small frying-pan 
with two minute, sandy, poached eggs balanced on top 
of it! 

Later the two Faqruns, Sidi Mohammed, Sidi Omar 
and Bu Regea, came to partake of our sheep flanked by 
two enormous bowls of rice. Everybody ate out of the 
same dish with their fingers, scooping up the food swiftly, 
without speech, but with loud sucking noises. After¬ 
wards we drank so much green tea that sleep became 
impossible, and with the stars for lamps and the palm 
clumps for walls, we sat round a little fire and talked 
slowly with long pauses. We were told that when Sidi 
Idris passed through the oasis he camped for two days 
under an immense cluster of palms within six feet of the 
blue lake and the spot was now regarded with awe and 
reverence. We informed our guests that the Emir had 
lately gone to Italy to visit the King. Sidi Mohammed 
seemed puzzled that the Holy One should have established 
such a precedent. “Why did not the King come to see 
the Sayed?” he asked, “for it is the visitor, not the host, 
who confers honour in Arab land.” 

Finally the question of departure arose and we 
discussed the possibility of going to Taiserbo first, 
thinking from Rohlfs’ description that there must be 
some interesting Tebu ruins there. Taiserbo was sup¬ 
posed by the adventurous German to have been the seat 
of the Tebu sultanate and he suggested that some ruins 
at Diranjedi might have been the stronghold of the 
reigning potentate. For this reason we were anxious 
to see the second largest of the desert oases, in spite of 


THE LAKE IN THE DESERT 157 

the fact that geographically and commercially it was 
described as uninteresting. Kufara is the centre of the 
Sahara world; Buseima produces the finest dates in 
Libya and caravans come from Jalo to fetch them; 
Ribiana is apparently the haunt of the most lawless 
human element in the neighbourhood. We were told 
that there were five hundred Tebu there, but it was 
probably incorrect. 

Taiserbo is outside the trade circuit and contents itself 
with a peaceful, self-centred existence. We heard the 
number of its inhabitants put as low as fifty and as 
high as two hundred. With regard to its size, it was 
generally supposed to be between 25 and 30 kilometres 
long and about 10 kilometres in breadth. It lies from 
north-west to south-east, with its northernmost end but 
a point or two west of due south of Jalo. It comprises 
eleven so-called villages of which the largest is Gezira, 
containing ten houses. The traveller from the north 
should arrive at Ain Jelelat or Ain Talib, within a 
kilometre of each other. Two kilometres south of these 
wells is Gezira, where there is the Senussi zawia, whose 
sheikh is Sidi Mohammed el Madeni, brother of our friend 
with the same name. South of Gezira lies Mabus el 
Awadil and Mabus Gaballa, some 2 kilometres apart. 
Sixteen kilometres east of Gezira is Kusebeya, the most 
easterly point in the oasis. Eight kilometres west of 
Ain Jelelat is El Wadi and a kilometre farther on is 
El Abd. On the extreme West is Tunisi. At El Wadi 
is the Kasr Diranjedi, where there are some old Tebu 
buildings, one of which might have been a castle or a 
palace. El Wadi is the most populated part. There 
are other Tebu ruins at Dahwa, Ain Jelelat and 
Gezira. 

There are clusters of palms round all the villages, with 
patches of “halfa” (half grass, half moss) in between. 


158 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


A band of “hattab”—small mounds with some brush¬ 
wood and fodder—surrounds the whole oasis. Some of 
the smaller villages contain but two or three houses. The 
larger dwellings are made of sand and stones, and the 
poor ones are merely shelters of woven palm leaves with 
small, square courts of palms. 

Most of this information came from the Sheikh el 
Madeni, whose people had originally lived in Jaghabub, 
where they had a violent quarrel with another family of 
ekhwans. Blood had been shed and Sayed Ahmed 
Sherif had arbitrarily ordered the emigration of the 
Madeni to Taiserbo, where two brothers now lived. The 
one we met had quarrelled with them, and been banished 
to Buseima. It speaks well for the prestige of the 
Senussi family that the Madeni are still their loyal ad¬ 
herents, though poor Sidi Mohammed spoke of Kufara 
and Jaghabub as centres of civilisation and culture and 
Buseima as the back of beyond. 

We spent hours drawing sand maps in the firelight, 
while a waning moon gleamed pale in the amazing sky 
of Africa, sapphire blue, yet soft as the azure veils of 
a Circassian bride. Occasionally the toothless Farraj 
challenged an imaginary passer-by with a sharp “Min?” 
Occasionally there was a rustle in the palms, which Shakri 
said was a cat who wanted to investigate our temporary 
larder. Before that night I had no idea how exciting it 
was trying to make geography. For a year I had worked 
and plotted to reach Kufara because the thought of this 
holy oasis, nucleus of the greatest Islamic confraternity, 
rigidly guarded from every stranger, the centre of the 
mighty influence against which every European Power 
has battled in turn, stirred my imagination. As I 
gradually learned more about this group of desert cities, 
Hawari, Jof, Boema, Tolelib, Tolab, Zuruk and , the holy 
Taj, and realised how they represented the spider at the 


THE LAKE IN THE DESERT 


159 


heart of the web, whose threads were the long caravan 
routes spreading out in every direction from Tripoli to 
the Sudan, from Lake Chad to Egypt, the commercial 
side of the problem fascinated me. Ivufara controls the 
desert trade of half the Sahara. So few of the old routes 
are open now and others are almost impracticable for 
lack of wells, but there are infinite possibilities in the 
future. Camels need not remain for ever the only means 
of transport in Libya. Cisterns of water might be stored 
at various known posts, as is done between Jalo and 
Jaghabub, where the Sayeds have caused water to be kept 
in great stone jars for the use of travellers. 

That night at Buseima, when our guests departed, 
we returned to the tent athirst for map-making. We 
shut the flaps and drew out our secreted apparatus. We 
ruined many sheets of paper and lost our compass in the 
sand a dozen times before we produced the first rough 
chart of the desert oasis, but we felt the effort was worth 
while when we saw the wells we had added to the 1915 
Egyptian Survey map. “Let us hope we shall have 
saved the next European quite a lot of trouble!” said 
Hassanein, unconsciously adding sand to his already 
ruffled hair. 

Sidi Mohammed spent the night in our camp. I 
thought it was to avoid the long walk back in the dark, 
for he lived in the farthest away of the two villages. In 
the morning I discovered he had done it as a precaution. 
Apparently the tales of danger were not so absurd as 
we had thought. The Faqrun men had said to Moham¬ 
med, “Wallahi! If it had not been for Sidi el Madeni, 
we would have killed you all!” It remains a complete 
mystery how they proposed to do it, but there could be 
no further doubt about Buseima’s dislike of strangers. 
A pale-faced woman had slipped out of the bushes to 
talk to Moraja as he went out of the camp. The sergeant 


160 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


had Arab blood mixed with his Sudanese and the figure 
in blurred reds and fawns was of his kin. “Why did 
you bring these Egyptians here?” she asked angrily. 
“We do not want strangers. Make them go, or they 
will suffer!” The morning of January 7, therefore, 
everyone had a new panic. It was in vain that we asked 
them if they were afraid of a mere handful or of shadows. 
They resurrected all the old stories and, with frantic 
glances at the deserted dunes, they implored us to de¬ 
part at once. 

The pitiful thing was that Mohammed’s spirit was 
utterly broken by the last three days of thirst. “Allah 
has given me a new life,” he said. “I dare not risk it 
again.” We were quite used to the cowardice of Yusuf 
and Abdul Rahim, a pathetic little wisp of a man who 
had no physique and no fighting spirit, but I was very 
sorry for Mohammed. He had been my greatest ally, 
always ready for work or for risk. Now his mind seemed 
to have suffered as well as his body. I wondered whether 
he would be of much use to us in the future. As I 
poached eggs on a sweet-smelling fire and made coffee 
in the “Nasrani water,” which tasted so sweet but which 
made one’s mouth terribly dry, I wished the retinue 
could absorb a little of the scene. The only things that 
moved in the purple and gold of rock and dune were 
the little grey and black birds, like water-wagtails—the 
“abu fasada” of Egypt. I suppose one should make 
an exception for the insects, for there were several kinds 
of beetles, as well as long, sandy locusts and actually 
mosquitoes, though the latter were either particularly 
merciful or abhorred the European as much as did the 
other inhabitants of Buseima. 

After breakfast we climbed to the top of one of the 
rocky cliffs. Moraj a assured us that it would take the 
whole day. We completed the ascent in three-quarters 



GARDEN* AND LAKE AT BUSEI1IA 



THE AUTHOR ON A CAMEL AT BUSEIMA 









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THE LAKE IN THE DESERT 


161 


of an hour, probably about 100 metres. Our camp level 
in the wadi was just under 380 metres. The view was 
marvellous. The whole oasis spread below us, with the 
great gap in the cliffs through which we had come two 
days before and beyond, on every side, were the waving 
lines of creamy dunes, growing steeper as we looked south 
to Ribiana or south-east to Kufara. Two spots of black 
broke the monotony of pale curves—outlying blocks of 
the Buseima Gar a. 

On our way back we explored a good many ruined 
Tebu houses scattered here and there on the rough salt 
waste between our camp and the cliffs. The walls were 
still in good condition and the houses were larger than 
on the farther side of the lake. The biggest round bee¬ 
hive room measured 8 feet 6 inches in diameter. I left 
Hassanein to tell the retinue that we would start the 
next morning and to listen to their elaborate plans for 
defence upon the way, while I went with Abdullah to visit 
his relations in the neighbouring village. His sister lived 
in a low hut made of palm branches and a little square 
court in front, with a wall of the same waving leaves. 
There was nothing inside the one room except some mats 
of plaited fronds, a few woven grass bowls full of dates, 
a couple of yellow gourds, a kid-skin of water, and some 
rather doubtful blankets. The whole life of these people 
depends on the palm. Their houses, mats, bowls, food, 
drink, baskets, string, shoes, stuffing for camel-saddles, 
all come from it. 

Several women gathered round me in the cool dark¬ 
ness. Most of them were pretty, with pale olive faces 
and pointed chins. The dark eyes of a Latin race looked 
out between heavy, black-fringed lashes, their features 
were finely cut and they had the most beautiful pearly 
teeth I have ever seen. They told me it was the effect 
of dates and the thing that most interested them in me 


162 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


was a gold stopping! They thought it was a new form of 
jewellery and everyone in turn was called upon to inspect 
and poke my unfortunate tooth. “If we have gold,” 
they said, “we make it into necklaces and ear-rings. 
Why do you wear it in your mouth?” They insisted 
on unwinding my cumbersome red hezaam, which I had 
always rolled round my waist, and swathing it very low 
on my hips, which gave me the immensely long-bodied 
effect of all Arab women. They showed me all their 
jewellery—huge silver ear-rings, necklaces and amulets— 
and asked me why I had no tattoo marks to show my 
tribe. Altogether we spent, an amusing hour in the dark 
palm-room, varied by drinking sour goat’s milk out of 
bowls made of palm wood, and eating dry, black dates 
almost too hard to bite. 

From Buseima there are two routes, one due south to 
Ribiana, described as a day and a half through very big 
dunes, a hard road that no guide likes to face, and another 
slightly south-east, taking three and a half days, of which 
two are difficult. From Ribiana it is possible to continue 
through the same high dunes to the Kufara group. By 
the more direct route one arrives at Hawari and by the 
longer one at Tolab. We took the straight road without 
hesitation, for our camels had by no means recovered 
from our last disastrous journey. Two of the nagas were 
expected to foal at any moment and all looked extremely 
thin and weak. Abdul Hafiz shook his head over them 
despondently. “Allah is great,” he said, “but so are 
the dunes!” 

We left Buseima at 8.20 on January 8. Bu Regea 
walked with us to the top of the first sand ridge, from 
where there was a marvellous view of the whole oasis, 
palms, lake and mountains, the latter like ruddy amethysts 
in a gold setting. The “Fatha” was solemnly repeated 
on the summit of a sharp rise; then, after many good 


THE LAKE IN THE DESERT 


163 


wishes and blessings, we plunged sharply into the maze 
of dunes. The strange little scene stuck in my mind 
because of the treachery that we knew underlay it. The 
preceding evening, after they had eaten our food, one of 
the Faqrun family had said to Yusuf, “Wallahi! Had 
we but a force equal to yours, you should not now depart,” 
while the loyal Sheikh el Madeni had urged Mohammed 
to leave the oasis as soon as possible. 

The morning of our departure a spy arrived from 
Ribiana, saying, “The Razama family have just returned 
from Jedabia, and they tell us that strangers are coming 
to this country. We cannot believe it is true that the 
Sayed has given permission to any stranger to visit 
Kufara. I have been sent to discover the truth.” Now 
the aged ekhwan who originally intended to accompany 
us on our journey, Haji Fetater, had warned Abdullah 
that the Sayed should not allow the Bazamas to go to 
Ribiana until we had returned in safety. Amidst all the 
complications of our departure the warning had been 
ignored, yet when the spy’s words were repeated to us we 
felt at last we understood the situation. Ever since we 
had left Jedabia there had been a strange undercurrent 
that we could not understand. We met with much hos¬ 
pitality and friendliness, yet always an odd distrust 
dogged our footsteps, while queer, impossible rumours 
spread before us. There was the robber band that laid in 
wait for us near Bir Rassam. There was the change of 
front at Aujela. Even in Jalo there was a faint uneasy 
shadow, which Hameida Bey Zeitun explained by saying 
that some of the sheikhs were old-fashioned and ignorant. 
Then came the actual enmity of Buseima, with all the 
rumours and warnings that terrified our retinue and were 
disregarded by us. The culminating point was the arrival 
of the spy, whose tale gave us every reason to suppose 
that we should be attacked on the way to Kufara, for he 


164 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


made exhaustive inquiries as to the strength of our party 
and the retinue we were taking. 

It was Mohammed who elucidated the mystery. He 
told us that the Razamas were an old and highly respected 
Senussi family, who had been ekhwan since the ancestor, 
who was sent to Kiifara by Sidi Ben Ali, was one of the 
original four who were to instruct the Zouias in the faith 
of Islam. There had been an ancient dispute about the 
possession of some land in Ribiana between the Sayeds 
and a member of this family, but Sayed Ahmed had 
settled matters amicably by making them sheikhs of 
Ribiana. Unfortunately, they had lately evaded the 
payment of “Onshur” (the tenth part) to the Govern¬ 
ment, on the grounds that they had not enough servants 
to till the lands. Sidi Idris had just removed them from 
office and appointed another man in their place. Con¬ 
sequently the whole Bazama family were in search of 
revenge. What better opportunity could offer than the 
murder of the Sayed’s guests, who were, moreover, 
generally supposed to be engaged on an important 
Senussi mission? 

Now we could trace all the threads to one spinning- 
wheel. We had attributed the robbers to chance greed, 
the affair at Aujela to the meanness of a surly Zouia who 
did not wish to feast the travellers, the rumours of danger 
in Buseima to the strained imaginations of the retinue. 
As a matter of fact, we probably owed our continued 
existence in the first place to our disguised flight, which 
misled Jedabia. Later on, Hassanein’s eloquence the 
first night in the She-ib’s tent at Aujela; at Jalo, the 
loyalty of the kaimakaan; at Buseima the smallness of 
the population doubtless saved us from disaster; but what 
about Kufara? The Bazamas might have much influence 
there, and in a large Arab oasis there are always factions 
only too glad of an excuse to squabble. The sacred 


THE LAKE IN THE DESERT 


165 


character of the place and the fierce fanaticism of the 
older Senussi would give our enemies every chance of 
fomenting the distrust which the advent of the first 
strangers in their history must naturally arouse. Moham¬ 
med and Yusuf were exceedingly troubled. For the 
hundredth time I imagine they wished they had never 
started on this southern journey! The story invented by 
the Bazamas, the one most likely to unite every faction 
and family against us, was that Sidi Idris had sold Ku- 
fara, Ribiana and Buseima to Europeans, and that Chris¬ 
tian strangers (sometimes I was reported to be the Queen 
of Italy!) were coming to gain all information about the 
country, so that the Europeans could occupy it with 
greater ease! Unless this amazing rumour could be 
rapidly discredited, every man’s hand would be against 
us and our lives not worth the fraction of a centime! 

We calculated that the spy would waste at least half 
the day “fadhling” at Buseima, after which it would 
take him a day to return to Ribiana. We expected that 
more time would be wasted there in organising the attack 
and so hoped, by moving speedily, to arrive at Hawari 
without a battle. It would not matter much, in case of 
attack, whether we were victorious or not, for in the 
former case we should have started a blood feud and the 
relatives of the slain would lie in wait for us on our 
return. 

Unfortunately, the dunes made rapid progress im¬ 
possible. The camels slipped and fell going down 
them; the ungirthed loads were flung off in all direc¬ 
tions. The beasts had to be urged up them slowly and 
laboriously. We were obliged to wind round the largest 
and our course that day was an infinitely slow zigzag. 
We rose to a height of 580 metres, with great waves and 
ridges of dunes running irregularly on every side. At 
3 p. m. we arrived at an almost flat stretch with one very 


166 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 

high pointed dune measuring nearly 100 metres high at 
the farther side. We clambered up this and had a 
wonderful view over the turbulent sea of sand. Behind 
us the great cliffs of Buseima appeared just sunk among 
the dunes. On the western horizon rose another long, 
square-topped formation, dark as the gara we had left. 
This was the mountain of Ribiana. It appeared to me 
at least 60 kilometres away. To the east were clearly 
visible the Fadil hills and the Hawaish between Zieghen 
and Kufara, mere little blots of indigo among the curly 
sand ridges. At 5 p.m. we were forced to camp because 
one of the nagas was foaling. She walked up to the last 
moment and an hour later she appeared to have recovered, 
but, alas! the foal was reported dying, which depressed 
the Arabs intensely, for camels are gold in their eyes, 
and gold to them is Alpha and Omega and a great deal 
else in between! 

The Sudanese amused me greatly that evening. 
“Don’t be afraid! We will defend your life,” said 
Farraj cheerfully. With memories of their various panics 
in Buseima, I replied, “Don’t you worry about defend¬ 
ing my life. I can do that all right. Keep your minds 
fixed on defending your own!” This was a new point 
of view and elicited the doleful answer, “But I don’t 
want to fight without a reason. There is a little girl 
I want to marry when I go back!” 

January 9 was a very cold morning, so the retinue 
dawdled hopelessly over their meal. The Sudanese prefer 
the fiercest sun to a touch of cold, which literally freezes 
them. We started at 8 a.m., and made better progress 
than the previous day, in spite of the fact that the foal, 
having completely recovered, had to be carried in a sort 
of pannier on the mother’s back. The dunes were very 
uneven in size. Sometimes for a kilometre or two there 
was a stretch of mildly undulating sands and then we 


167 


THE LAKE IN THE DESERT 

would come to great massive dunes like small mountains, 
from the top of which one had a view of the four black, 
rocky chains, roughly east, south, north and west. At 
10 a.m. we climbed to the top of the Seif el-Biram, 
which the Arabs say is the highest on the route. It is 
called the “Dune of Firepots,” because the Zouia 
women, flying south before the Turkish occupation of the 
northern oasis, took their clay cooking pots with them on 
their camels. As the beasts crawled down the precipitous 
slopes of the mighty dune the vessels fell off and were 
all broken! To a certain extent our caravan repeated 
the experience, for most of the baggage collapsed and a 
strange woman who was travelling with us—a pale girl- 
widow, who had left her baby in Buseima because her 
husband’s family refused to give it up and had claimed 
our protection to go to Kufara to join her own people— 
turned a complete somersault over the head of her 
surprised camel. Luckily the sand was soft! It became 
distinctly pinkish as we went farther south, a pale coral 
colour. Unfortunately, another naga took it into her 
head to foal, after we had done only 28 kilometres and 
we were forced to camp at 3 p.m. Luckily there was no 
doubt about this foal’s health, so we avoided the gloom 
of the preceding evening. 

Yusuf and Abdullah sat with me while the tent was 
being erected in a wide open space, splendidly open to 
attack, but the fatalistic spirit of the desert had made 
us careless. They told me stories of Sidi el Mahdi, who 
is supposed among the Beduins to be still alive and a 
mystic wanderer in the Sahara. Some day he will 
return to lead the Senussi to further glory and power, 
“Inshallah!” They say that he disappeared suddenly 
at Garu on the way to Wadai and another was buried 
in his place in the holy morabit in Kufara. As an instance 
of his continued existence they quoted the experience 


168 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


of some Arabs seated round their camp fire amidst the 
starlit dunes. To them came a stranger who asked them 
for news of the Mahdi. “Our lord is dead,” they 
replied; “the Sayeds at Kufara say so.” “He is alive,” 
said the stranger, “Huwa fi Wasst.” The Beduins 
translated this to mean that Sidi el Mahdi was in a town 
called “Wasst” in Algeria, and they rushed with the 
news to Kufara. “Why did you not hold the man?” 
asked the sheikhs. “That was the Mahdi. He is alive. 
He told you he was ‘fiwasst,’ ‘between you.’ ” The 
play on the Arabic words is clumsy in English. “Fi¬ 
wasst” means “between,” “in the middle of,” while 
“fi” means “in,” and “Wasst” might be the name of 
a place. 

The previous flight we had camped with a feeling of 
unrest and apprehension. Everybody clung to his rifle 
and I remember Hassanein and I had a fierce dispute over 
an ancient musket, left behind by a soldier who had 
deserted at Jalo, reducing our army to nine, inclusive 
of commandant and sergeant. As a matter of fact, the 
weapon which really filled the Beduin soul with terror 
was Hassanein’s useless target pistol. Its long barrel 
thrilled them and we overheard Abdullah telling a friend 
that Ahmed Bey had a revolver which could shoot people 
an hour away! 

The second night the desert had stuck in her claw 
again—fatal anaesthetic which makes one utterly careless 
of the future—“What matter dead yesterday and unborn 
to-morrow, so that the day be good?” In truth the 
days are generally extremely trying, for there is either 
a blazing sun which burns through the thin cotton 
barracan over the wound handkerchief, or a bitter wind 
which pierces every bone in one’s body. Sometimes there 
were both together and then one side of one is frozen 
and the other baked! One’s skin split and blistere 


THE LAKE IN THE DESERT 


169 


under this treatment, but there was only one hour I 
shall never be able to forgive the desert. This was the 
moment when, at 5 a.m., one crept shivering out of one’s 
warm flea-bag into pitch darkness, placed one’s feet 
gingerly on icy cold sand, fumbled with numb fingers for 
a candle and matches, and proceeded to drag on cold, 
stiff garments from each of which fell a shower of sand. 
Meanwhile, with chattering teeth, one had to call out loud, 
cheerful greetings and hearty good wishes to rouse our 
improvident following, although one’s mind contained 
nothing but venomous invective! However, the nights 
were good. On that particular one, Shakri, being sen¬ 
tinel, stationed himself clear-cut against the starlit sky 
on the top of the highest dune and, in case his presence 
were not sufficiently obvious, he played mournful little 
tunes on a wooden flute. 

Next day, January 10, we started at 6.30 a.m., after 
the usual breakfast of half a plate of rice with a dozen 
dates and a cup of coffee. It is amazing how one gets 
accustomed to much work on little food. We walked 
for eleven and a quarter hours, doing 44 kilometres as 
the crow flies, with only a handful of dates at midday. 
Moreover, when we reached camp there was always 
map-drawing and writing to be done before we thought 
of supper. 

That day Abdullah and I started off briskly in front 
of the others, for it was very cold and the sun had not 
yet risen above the dunes. We were soon stopped by the 
sight of something white a little to our left. Upon 
inspection it proved to be a pathetic reminder of the 
desert cruelty we had escaped just a week ago. Three 
human skeletons lay in a huddled group, half-covered 
with sand. “Thirst,” said Abdullah grimly. It must 
have been a fairly recent tragedy, for the men’s white 
clothes were in good condition, and the skin of the hands 


170 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


was still yellow and dry. The strange woman bent over 
them pityingly. “Three men were lost on their way 
from Ribiana to Kufara,” she said. “Their baggage was 
found but they had disappeared.” The soldiers, how¬ 
ever, said they were probably blacks, for they had many 
Sudanese he jabs on them. We found some leather 
amulets, a fox’s foot and the complete bones of a bird, 
but I would not let the men disturb the desolate scene 
further. With a “Rahmat Ullahi Allahim!” we passed 
on to join the caravan. 

The foals were being carried in panniers, one on each 
side of the biggest naga, and occasionally we had to stop 
to let them feed. Otherwise we made good pace, for 
the dunes were gradually getting less steep. At 8 a.m. 
we mounted the last big rise and saw before us a sea of 
low coral waves, for the sand was getting steadily pinker, 
with the black mass of the gebel in front. Great was 
our excitement, however, when, with binoculars, we were 
able to follow this chain, apparently with scarcely a break, 
to very near the position of the Ribiana Gara. In fact, 
the whole horizon seemed to be enclosed in a semicircle 
of irregular violet hills, stretching from the Fadil and 
Hawaish to the north-west and west with scarcely a break 
where Kufara lay, to the long chain of the Gebel Neri. 
From the map we had seen we had supposed the hills to 
be in small, regular groups. This marvellous view of a 
land enclosed by strange cliffs was so unexpected that it 
was like discovering a new country. From that point the 
ranges appeared to run in a complete half-circle from 
north-west to south-east. With blazing eyes Hassanein 
began tracing his sand maps. “Don’t you see the Hawari 
Gara is a continuation of the Gebel ISTeri?” he said. 
“Yes, and the Ribiana Gara is a bit broken off the other 
end,” I answered with rising excitement. “Do you 
know, the Hawaish mountain was originally called the 


THE LAKE IN THE DESERT 171 

Keid el Adu, ‘vexation of the enemy,’ ” he continued, 
“because no one could break through it?” “To enter 
the enclosed land,” I interrupted. “Of course, these 
oases are all linked in a circle by the black hills. Taiserbo 
alone has no gara—she lies outside.” 

From that moment I have always thought of Buseima, 
Kufara and Ribiana as the mountain oases of Libya. 
Some day, no doubt, geologists will come and prove our 
theory false or true, but for me the palm gardens isolated 
in the middle of red sands, each with its guardian crag, 
will ever be an island country within the arms of the 
strange dark mountains. 

The name Hawaish means a great beast; therefore we 
questioned Yusuf and Abdullah closely about these 
mountains. “No one ever goes there,” they said. 
“The jinns live there!” “Does anyone ever go to 
Gebel Neri?” “No; they are afraid.” “What are they 
afraid of?” “They do not know.” “Have they seen 
anything?” “No. When they go near the mountains 
they have a feeling.” “Are there men there?” “No. 
There is no water nor food. Men lived there long ago 
and drank rain water.” “They may be there still, 
then?” “No. There are jinns.” “What do they 
look like?” “Nobody has seen them.” “How do you 
know they are there?” “In the morning one can some¬ 
times hear a loud noise as of many birds.” “And no 
one has seen anything?” “They have seen bones.” 
“What kind of bones?” “They do not know. They 
are afraid.” Pressed on this point, Yusuf said the bones 
were big and drew a picture in the sand which might 
represent the vertebras of anything from a man to a 
camel! I repeat this conversation verbatim in order to 
show how difficult it is to draw information from a 
Libyan Arab! 


CHAPTER IX 


TREACHERY AT HAWARI 

I N’ the afternoon we left the dunes behind and 
emerged on flat, rolling country, with broad sand- 
waves ahead and the purple crags of the Neri running 
south in an irregular mass of peaks and square-topped 
ridges, with dark stretches of stones and lava in between. 
The sand was now the colour of mellow brickdust, with 
occasional streaks of purplish red and scattered patches of 
stones of all colours, like those I had picked up in 
Ruseima. Some of the ground looked almost like mosaic 
work in blues, mauves and reds. Hoping to arrive at 
Hawari on the morrow, the caravan moved briskly 
through the sunset, when the land turned an ugly hot 
brown and the aching cliffs tore the orange sky with 
sombre violet crests. We barraked beneath the first big, 
round sand wave, from where we could see the dark gara 
of Hawari—a continuation of the Gebel Neri—and while 
we triumphed in our success as geographers, the retinue 
developed a beautiful new panic! 

They had heard that one man had left the Bazama 
caravan at El Harrash and gone on to Kufara. Abdullah 
suggested that he would have spread all kinds of libel 
about us and Abdul Rahim grew pale beneath his ebony! 
The pitiful thing was that Mohammed had so completely 
lost his nerve that he too was terrified. He had changed 
very much in the last week. He no longer looked out 
upon the world with his old, frank, boyish glance. His 
eyes wavered and fell. He never laughed or sang these 
days. I think that he was really the only imaginative 

172 


TREACHERY AT HAWARI 


173 


and sensitive man in the party and therefore he alone 
had conjured up visions of what dying of thirst really 
meant. Also his reserved pride had been violently 
wounded by the attitude of Ruseima, though he would 
never acknowledge it. Unfortunately, that morning he 
had seen the skeletons and drew on his vivid imagination 
for details and comparisons. This completed his demoral¬ 
isation. He joined with the guide and the soldiers in 
imploring us to go past Hawari by night and arrive at 
Kufara proper before dawn, so that by the time anyone 
woke up in Taj we should be established in one of the 
Sayed’s houses, presumably in a state of armed defence. 
In vain we argued and protested. They all foresaw a 
well-organised attack the moment the inhabitants of 
Hawari perceived us. To do Yusuf justice, he was the 
only one who declared this was nonsense. “There may 
be robbers,” he said, “but how could they openly attack 
the Sayed’s slaves?” We found an unexpected ally in 
him when, sitting round the camp fire, we tried to instil 
a little courage into the retinue while at the same time 
insisting on staying in Hawari. 

It had been an exceedingly hot day and feet had 
blistered anew, which perhaps accounted for the mental 
depression. Yusuf was our most reliable barometer. 
When he discarded the fleece-lined waterproof and strode 
along in his fluttering white shirt and a skull cap, as he 
had done that afternoon, we knew it must be almost 
torrid. I never saw Mohammed walk without my 
plaid rug wound over the top of the torn woolly water¬ 
proof ! 

January 11 I saw the sun rise from the top of the 
immense dune that had guarded our slumbers. The 
dull sand turned slowly pink as the purple cliffs of the 
Gebel Neri came into view in low, irregular masses to 
the south, while a little to the east of them appeared 


174 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


the solitary black rock of the Hawari Gara. It looked 
at least a day’s journey away. Abdullah said we should 
reach it by midday. As we marched towards it I tried 
to draw out more tales of the desolate mountain on our 
right, for I was intrigued by the description of the sounds 
heard therein, “a noise of birds.” Hornemann, the first 
modern writer to speak of the Tebu oasis, says that the 
people of Aujela described the speech of the inhabitants 
as “like unto the whistling of birds.” Curiously enough, 
the Tebu women I met had extraordinarily high-pitched, 
sweet voices, which sounded rather like clear warbling. 
Moraja and Abdul Hafiz both volunteered the informa¬ 
tion that “footprints” had been seen near the haunted 
Gebel. “Footprints of what?” I asked. “Well, they 
are like snakes!” they replied. The anti-climax was too 
great. I could not bear my jinn or prehistoric savage 
to turn into a serpent! 

After two hours we left the pink sands and passed 
into the waste of stony ridges and small hills on the out¬ 
skirts of the mountains. The colours were quite extraor¬ 
dinary. Occasional banks of vivid vermilion lay between 
patches of loose black stone, with here and there scattered 
blocks of grey, rose and mauve, at the foot of the smaller 
cliffs. All round us the basis of the sand was fawnish 
red and as the stones grew thicker we found odd hollow 
tubes and balls, heavy and black, but filled with sand. 
The largest balls measured more than a foot across, the 
smallest about an inch. The blacks were delighted with 
these new toys and broke open the solid ones to see the 
sand run out, after which they used them as cups and 
candlesticks. I had never seen the formation before and 
did not know what it was. We passed the Hawari Gara 
at noon. It does not stand out particularly from the 
rest of Lhe Gebel Neri, as it is but one cliff among many 
in the neighbourhood, but a few hundred yards beyond, 


TREACHERY AT HAWARI 


175 


the ridges of stones and red sand rise sufficiently to 
allow one to look, as it were, over their edge on to 
a country of paler sand beyond. Here reigned our 
old enemy, the mirage, so it was difficult at first to 
distinguish the false from the true. On the far horizon 
loomed the purple hills of the Kufara Gara. Some¬ 
where beyond those peaks and cliffs lay the mysterious, 
elusive oasis that was no near and yet always just 
beyond our reach. Up till that moment we had con¬ 
sidered Hawari as a part of Kufara, but Yusuf, point¬ 
ing joyfully to a pale sand wave just before the distant 
hills, said, “Do you see the white sand? Before we 
come to that, below it, are the palms of Hawari, but * 
Kufara is ‘bayid,’ beyond the Gebel.” 

For a couple of hours we straggled across uneven 
country, dotted with rare patches of stones and mounds, 
with ever more and more tantalising points appearing to 
the south till we wondered if the mountains ever ended. 
Nobody waits for anyone else in the desert. Everyone 
walks at his own favourite pace. If you cannot keep up, 
you drop behind and your companion does not stop to 
ask the reason. If you pause to shake the sand from a 
shoe, he does not halt with you. It is against the custom, 
unless you are ill. The Beduins often speak of the long, 
waterless routes as “The roads where we do not wait for 
a dying man. An hour for a camel, two for an Arab, 
then we leave them!” 

At last a stronger sand wave than most gave us a 
sudden perfect view of Hawari, a long, very narrow strip 
of palms running for about 12 kilometres very nearly 
north and south, with two little isolated groups of palms 
at the southern end. All round it lay a band of very 
red sand, broken into thousands of small mounds of 
“hattab,” the little dry sticks we had seen before. A 
third naga started to foal, but we ruthlessly left her to 


176 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


the care of Abdul Hafiz and pressed on, so that we 
entered the oasis at 3 p.m. 

Against the wallflower sands the thick, low-growing, 
heavy-foliaged palms looked almost grey. There were 
few tall ones, so it was easy to cut great clusters of yellow 
dates, which were very sweet and tasted of honey. I did 
not like them very much. The retinue began to panic 
frantically, chiefly because a group of blacks we passed 
cutting dates amidst a picturesque circle of goats and 
blue-robed women, asked, “Where is the caravan with 
the Christian? The Bazamas sent news of it.” 

We went straight across the southern end of the oasis 
to the palm gardens of the Sayed, which were kept in 
excellent order with neat leaf fences, many wells, rows 
of newly planted young palms and continuous patches 
of vegetables, brightest green amidst the monotonous 
brick-red sands. The whole of this portion of the oasis 
was inhabited by the Sayed’s slaves and we saw numbers 
of blacks, men, women and children, working in the 
gardens or driving small, pale grey donkeys laden with 
dates. We camped on the edge of the village and Abdul 
Rahim nearly had a fit when he saw me wander off to 
photograph the houses, gleaming white between the 
palms. He ran after me almost foaming with terror. 
The general state of nerves was beginning to get boring. 

The houses of Hawari are almost like European 
buildings. They are exceedingly well constructed of 
sand bricks in regular lines, square, solid, flat-roofed, 
with windows, but many of the yards have quite low 
walls, all of which are neatly coped. We had scarcely 
put up the tent when the sheikh of the zawia, Musa 
Squaireen, arrived to inquire our business. He was soon 
followed by the leading Zouia headmen, among them 
Musa Gharibeel and Mansur Bu Badr of the Gebail. 
Soon a circle of a dozen were sitting round our hastily 



ZOUIA WOMEN AT BUSEIMA 


AT BUSEIMA: TEACHING THE FAQRUN FAMILY TO 
USE FIELD GLASSES 




































. 























It, vV" • 





. 



































TREACHERY AT HAWARI 


177 


built zariba, while Mohammed’s faithful follower, Omar, 
hurriedly made coffee. The tribesmen were slightly 
depressed at first and we wondered if it had anything 
to do with our arrival, until it appeared that one man 
had made a bad bargain in buying slaves from a Wadai 
caravan a few days before. He had paid 400 mejidies 
(about <£70) for a man and two women, and now the man 
was very ill. “It was bad business,” he said sadly. They 
all repeated the same formula, “The Sayed’s orders are 
above our heads,” and added that our visit was welcome, 
saying, “Your coming is a blessing. May Allah bless 
our Sayeds and those who come from them!” Yet 
Abdul Rahim started the rumour that night that we were 
prisoners and were not to be allowed to move till 
permission arrived from Kufara. 

We were too sleepy to inquire into the truth, but the 
following morning gifts of sour leban and milk arrived, 
together with a couple of chickens, so we thought that 
probably the Zouias, while paying all honour to the 
Sayed’s guests, were anxious to show how impossible it 
was for strangers to penetrate their well-guarded borders. 
Yusuf and Mohammed implored us not to move from the 
camp, which they had pitched in an unsheltered, torridly 
hot and fly-ridden spot to avoid robbers in the palm 
groves. “Wait till the big men come to see us,” they 
said. “Then you can walk with safety.” This was 
palpably an excuse, for Hawari is only a little village 
suffering from its nearness to a big centre. The whole 
life of the country depends on the town beyond the 
mountains. The big sheikhs and ekhwan live in Jof and 
Taj. In Clapham or Tooting one does not expect to 
find Ministers of the Crown. So in Hawari everyone 
says, “There is nothing here. All things come from 
Kufara.” The important sheikh of the place, Bush Naf, 
was at the moment in Jof. For this reason we had sent 


178 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 

on Abdullah as a herald of our coming to present our 
credentials to Sidi Idris’s wakil and to prepare a dwelling 
for us in Taj. 

That morning we over-ate on eggs, dates, fresh bread 
made with yeast—oh, but it tasted good—and goat’s 
milk. Then, while Hassanein lazed—he called it absorb¬ 
ing the spirit of the desert—I hid two kodaks in the folds 
of my voluminous barracan, veiled my unfortunately 
white skin and went off to explore the town. The cor¬ 
poral and the largest Farraj offered to escort me, but they 
were not happy till they realised how little interest we 
aroused. We saw many well-kept gardens wherein grew 
vegetables, peaches, barley, thorn-tree figs. In each of 
them were one or two Sudanese working the primitive* 
wells, sometimes with the aid of the delightful little grey 
donkeys, the cleanest things I had seen in Libya. We 
walked all through the village, encountering no oppo¬ 
sition, but of subjects for photographs there were few. 
The big, square houses, with their complicated yards and 
outbuildings, were dotted here and there among the 
scattered palms or over the broad bare spaces of sand. 
There were no winding streets or passages as in Jalo and 
Aujela. A small, insignificant mosque, a low, square 
building with a row of windows, a little zawia established 
by the great Sidi el Mahdi, with a “qubba” that looked 
rather like a horse trough with an upright stone at each 
end (a former muezzin of the zawia), made a group at 
one end of the village. We climbed one of the vermilion 
dunes, half-covered with the feathery grey bushes we had 
first met at El Atash, in order to get a better view for 
a photograph, but the scattered houses were too far away. 

On our return we passed one or two buildings with 
mud porticoes, whose arches could be seen above the walls 
of their yards. Some women came "'out to talk to me 
in high, clear voices. They were practically unveiled and 


TREACHERY AT HAWARI 


179 


wore straight, dark red tobhs, unbelted, so they made 
an attractive group under a large thorn-tree between high 
sand walls. One and all they asked for medicine, and 
when I returned to my fly-filled tent a group gradually 
gathered outside with various tales of woe. The most 
important entered and sat uncomfortably on my folding 
bed, from which they soon slipped thankfully to their 
accustomed crouched-up position on the sand. My treat¬ 
ments were simple, consisting chiefly of boracic powder 
and quinine, but the recipients tied the pills carefully into 
corners of their barracans and departed with blessings. 

Suddenly a blaze of colour obstructed the view beyond 
my tent flap. The smallest of the grey donkeys, almost 
covered with a gorgeous striped mat of reds and blues, 
and still further obscured by the voluminous draperies of 
a small, huddled figure in the vividest scarlet I have ever 
seen, was led up by a tiny urchin in a tattered white 
shirt, while another beat from behind. “The mother of 
Sheikh Musa has come to visit you,” announced one of 
the Farrajes. The flaming folds disengaged themselves, 
trailed into the tent and crumbled into a red heap on 
the sand, from which emerged the oldest, frailest Arab 
woman I have ever met. She was bent and wrinkled 
beyond belief, toothless and almost blind, yet she carried 
on an interested conversation about the Sayeds and finally 
offered me a Moslem rosary blessed by Sidi el Mahdi. 

As the heat was terrific I was glad when the visit 
came to an end and only wished we had fixed our 
departure for that afternoon instead of for the next 
morning. Hassanein suggested our wandering down to 
the other end of the oasis where there is another small 
village, Hawawiri. We borrowed a donkey from the 
reluctant sheikh el-zawia, who told us we should be killed 
before we were out of sight of the belad, and called for 
a guide to show us the way. At that moment there were 


180 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


half a dozen Zouias seated round our zariba, but none of 
them moved. I began to understand the sufferings of 
Rohlfs when I looked at the cruel, anaemic faces of these 
Arabs. Brave they may be, but they had not the keen, 
fierce looks of the warrior Beduin. They had small, 
cunning eyes that shifted restlessly, long, mean faces with 
thin lips and generally a fretful scowl between the brows. 
The Zouias are known as a bad tribe and these people 
certainly looked untrustworthy to the last degree. When 
we offered a bribe of tea and sugar one of them got up 
to accompany us, but none of the soldiers would come. 
Mora j a and Abdul Rahim hid in their tent and Yusuf 
said he was lame. We were just starting off alone when 
Mohammed sprang up and slung on his gun. “They 
are a pair of eagles!” he exclaimed. “I will not be less 
brave than they.” After we had gone a few hundred 
yards there was a soft thud-thudding in the sand behind, 
and the big Farraj, who had become our sort of personal 
slave, together with the corporal, silently joined us. 

Our progress, however, was almost instantly stopped 
by a band of young men and boys rushing wildly after us. 
“Do not walk! Do not walk!” they yelled, and pointed 
to a large group of white-clad Arabs marching rapidly 
towards us. We turned to meet them. “For God’s 
sake do not go!” said Mohammed. “There is bad work 
here. I do not understand it. Let us go back to the 
camp!” He followed gamely, however. The Arabs 
were all armed and they looked very angry, for they were 
gesticulating and talking in loud voices. I always wore 
my revolvers underneath my hezaam. I managed to get 
them out under the folds of my barracan and wondered 
with an odd, fierce pleasure how many shots I could get 
in. The corporal pretended to busy himself with the 
donkey, but our Farraj came on, his rifle ready. The 
Zouias surrounded us, a wild, threatening group. “You 


TREACHERY AT HAWARI 181 

shall not move from here till orders come from Jof!” 
they shouted. “We have been warned about you. We 
know. No strangers shall come to our country. They 
die quickly here!” Hassanein suddenly had one of his 
inspirations. “You wish to show that you are brave and 
will defend your country to the last, but you should 
behave thus to strangers, not to the guests of the 
Sayed!” he said angrily. They were puzzled. They 
expected us to be frightened and impressed. Instead, 
we were angrier than they. If you can make an Arab 
talk he generally forgets to fire. 

While loudly arguing we led the way to the camp 
and soon there was a large “megliss” seated outside our 
tent. Some Tebus joined the Zouias. They were coal- 
black like the Sudani slaves, but with more refined and 
intelligent faces. Most of them do not talk Arabic, but 
their head man explained the situation to them and to 
our surprise they ranged themselves on our side. “The 
guests of the Sayed are welcome to our country,” they 
said. The Zouias, headed by Bu Badr, were angrier than 
ever. “Why does not a messenger come from Jof?” 
they asked. “Sidi Abdullah went last night and he 
promised to send back news. We told him you should 
not follow until permission came.” 

We looked blanky at each other. We had not told 
the guide to send back a messenger, and he had breathed 
no word to us of such intention, nor of his tribesmen’s 
threats. “It is a plot,” said I grimly. “Yes, but 

where, why-?” murmured Hassanein vaguely. 

Mohammed leaned forward triumphantly. His eyes 
shone, his voice was strong. I think in that moment he 
recovered his self-respect and we our old ally. “I under¬ 
stand it all,” he cried. “Wallahi! I will never stroke 
my beard again till I have settled with Abdullah who has 
betrayed us. You men of Hawari, you are fools and you 



182 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


have insulted the Sayed’s guests because you are like the 
foolish woman in the suq who buys the first thing that is 
offered to her!” He whispered to Hassanein in Arabic 
too rapid for my comprehension, “By Allah, hear and 
believe, for I speak the truth!” shouted the latter above 
the babel of angry voices. Even Sheikh Zarrug of the 
Hawaij ceased from exclaiming that if no messenger 
came from Jof on the morrow the Zouias would know that 
we had deceived them and it would go hard with us. 
“You get no news here and you believe the first-comer,” 
continued Hassanein. “Abdullah told you that you must 
prove to the strangers that you were brave and strong lest 
they think that anyone can enter your country easily. Is 
it not so?” They acknowledged uneasily, some even 
with crooked smiles, that this was the case. Then they 
remembered the point which changed a bluff meant to 
impress strangers into a grim reality. “Abdullah was to 
send back a messenger if the ekhwan approved of your 
letter and would receive you. It is a short journey and 
none has come.” 

At these words smiles vanished and the pale, cruel 
faces grew more cunning and suspicious. The Tebus 
grouped themselves behind us. It might be a good battle, 
I thought, and wondered if the Zouia rifles were modern. 
A fight is always stimulating and not like that awful, 
helpless day of thirst when one could not war with nature! 
“Of course, no messenger has come,” said Hassanein 
triumphantly. “None will. You have been fooled and 
so have we. To-morrow you would have prevented our 
going. There would have been a fight. You are brave 
but so are the slaves of the Sayed. Perhaps his guests 
would have been killed and Abdullah would have been 
saved. Do you know why?” Then followed the story of the 
guide who had lost his head and his reputation at the same 
time and I suddenly grasped Abdullah’s neat little plot. 


TREACHERY AT HAWARI 


183 


If none of the caravan returned to Jedabia, or even 
if the two strangers, chief witnesses against him, dis¬ 
appeared, he would be saved. He knew full well that no 
one would employ him as a guide after the story of his 
Taiserbo mistake became known. His future depended 
on our lips being sealed. His best chance lay amongst his 
suspicious Zouia kinsmen, always distrustful of strangers, 
fanatical and warlike, yet the caravan could not be 
attacked while he was with it. Therefore he suggested 
going to prepare the way for us at Taj. When we agreed, 
it was easy to arouse the amour propre and suspicions 
of the Hawari Zouias. “Show your courage by not 
letting these doubtful strangers cross the borders of your 
land. If their story is true and the sheikhs of Jof will 
receive them, I will send back a messenger.” He had 
never the slightest intention of dispatching anyone to 
rescue us from the ever-growing hostility at Hawari, and 
he calculated that in a day or two we should make an 
attempt to escape and be promptly fired upon. The blacks 
would be obliged to defend us and, after the general car¬ 
nage, the story of his failure would be buried with the slain. 

Mohammed having discovered the plot, Hassanein 
rose nobly to the occasion. His words poured forth with 
all the subtle rhetoric that sways the Beduin mind and 
when their brains were steeped in this river of speech 
he suddenly flung down Sidi Idris’s letter. “Do you 
wait for orders from Jof when your Sayed sends us here? 
Is this the insult that you pay him when he trusted you 
to help his guests?” There was an uncomfortable pause. 
The shifty eyes of the circle would not meet ours. 
Sheikh Saad, the feki of the town, who had been the 
spokesman against us, murmured incoherent words. 
Mansur Bu Badr sent hastily for a sheep. The group 
began to split into twos and threes. A party was forming 
in our favour. Musa Gharibeel exclaimed, He is speak- 


184 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


ing the truth. We have made a mistake.” For at least 
an hour arguments raged on every side, but we ignored 
them and planned low-voiced revenge with Mohammed 
in the tent. It was delightful to see how the man had 
taken hold again. “Wallahi,” he repeated five times 
running. “May I never see my wife again if Abdullah 
does not get his reward from the Sayed!” 

From the pleasant task of plotting the guide’s down¬ 
fall we were summoned by a smiling Yusuf. “Your 
words are flames,” he said to Hassanein. “The people 
are feeling very foolish and they regret what they have 
done.” I felt it was Hassanein’s triumph, so left him 
to receive the apologies of the Zouias with condescending 
coldness, but even this did not content them. Musa 
Gharibeel and Bu Badr insisted on wishing me personally 
a good journey on the morrow. “I shall be glad to rest 
in the house of Sidi Idris,” I said coldly. “He told me 
it would be an easy journey, but I think he has been 
mistaken.” The Zouias were silent. 

Yusuf told me afterwards that Abdullah had insisted 
that the caravan was to follow him to Jof the next day 
without waiting for any news from Kufara. To make 
things quite certain he had told the men of Hawari that 
we were looking for gold in the mountains and we would 
return with an army to conquer the land and take the 
treasure it contained! 

When it was dark the slave-girls, Zeinab and Hauwa, 
crept into my tent. “We thought we should all die 
to-day, but now we are happy. The people are bad here, 
but we have been saved!” they said. Our greatest 
triumph, however, was the moment when a very meek 
Zouia deputation woke us up to ask us if we would care 
to go to Hawawiri on our way to Kufara on the morrow. 
They dared not approach the tent themselves, so sent 
Yusuf to offer their olive branch. 


CHAPTER X 


FEASTS IN THE HOLY PLACE 

J ANUARY 13, therefore, should have seen the 
successful termination of our long journey, instead 
of which it saw us prisoners in earnest until a 
furiously ridden white donkey appeared on the horizon, 
amidst a whirl of tarboush tassel, rifle and long legs 
ending in bright yellow slippers, each swinging wildly at 
different angles. All this because Abdullah over-reached 
himself. In order to make our destruction certain he 
went to the kaimakaan at Jof and warned him that we 
were two Christians from Italy disguised as Moslems and 
that we were learning all about the country in order to 
conquer it later on. “It is impossible,” said that official 
loyally. “They have letters from the Sayeds.” “What 
is writing?” said Abdullah. “They have cheated the 
Sayeds, I tell you. Ever since they left they have been 
secretly making maps. They had watches on the feet of 
the camels, and the Sitt held a watch in her hand all the 
time [my compass]. They hang a strange thing on their 
tent—a weapon to kill us if we come near [the barom¬ 
eter] and they have spectacles which make the country 
look big while it is far away.” He drew such lurid pic¬ 
tures of our nefarious designs that the kaimakaan was 
determined at all costs to protect his beloved Sayeds from 
the consequences of their mistake. “They must not 
leave Hawari,” he said firmly. “In a few days they 
must go back. The honour of our princes will thus be 
saved.” Abdullah agreed warmly, believing that in a 


186 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


few days what was left of us would hardly be worth send¬ 
ing back! Then the blow fell. “You must take an order 
at once to Yusuf and Mohammed Quemish.” In vain 
the guide protested, pleaded, argued. The kaimakaan 
was firm. It was then the afternoon and there was plenty 
of time to reach Hawari before night. The energetic 
official hustled Abdullah out of the town and the plotter 
saw his neat little plan for our destruction in jeopardy. 

He knew that Mohammed was intelligent and that 
Yusuf was known to many people in Kufara. Both were 
loyal. Therefore, unless we were killed fairly quickly, 
in the general inquiry his own perfidy would come to 
light. He had meant to ensure that we were not imme¬ 
diately invited to Jof. He had no desire to return to us 
even with an order for our detention, for though it might 
make things uncomfortable for us temporarily, in the 
long run he was bound to suffer. Therefore he spent the 
night in the mountains and only arrived at our camp at 
9 o’clock, hoping that by this time we should have come 
to blows with the Zouias, for he had particularly in¬ 
structed Yusuf to start off with the caravan at dawn. 

I do not know which was more aghast at seeing the 
other, Abdullah or I! At that moment, of course, I 
knew nothing of his work at Kufara. I only felt that 
we had jumped to wrong conclusions the preceding day 
and when, with restless eyes downcast, he murmured that 
we could not leave Hawari yet as they were preparing a 
house for us in Jof which would not be ready for several 
days, but that the slave-girls were to go on at once, I 
felt that something was seriously wrong. He tried to 
avoid presenting the note to Yusuf and Mohammed in 
front of me, but I would not leave him, so the paper, 
which was presumably meant to be private, was read 
before me. It ran, “You will see that you do not 
stir from Hawari until you receive further orders.” 


FEASTS IN THE HOLY PLACE 187 

Abdullah murmured something incoherent about going 
to the village and the remark galvanised me into action. 
Once the Zouias knew of that message we should be 
prisoners. It, therefore, behoved us to send someone 
reliable to Taj to find out what had happened before the 
suspicious tribesmen set a guard round our camp. 
Mohammed was the only possible person and he loathed 
the idea, for had he not the written order of the Sayed’s 
wakil that he was not to move? However, he yielded to 
persuasion. Perhaps the long miles trudged side by side 
through hot sands under a hotter sun, the precious water 
shared, the jokes over our aching feet, the first cold nights 
when we had divided our blankets and coats, above all, 
the day we had torn up the baggage saddles together and 
distributed the straw to our starving animals with little 
hope that we could ever provide them with another meal, 
all bore fruit. “Wallahi!” he swore. “I shall discover 
the truth.” Abdullah almost lost his self-control. He 
burst into the tent with the cowardly Abdul Rahim, while 
Hassanein was penning a tactful letter to the kaimakaan. 
Angry protests flowed from his lips. He threatened to 
fetch the Zouias. The little commandant stuttered feeble 
futilities. Mohammed wavered. 

At that moment I saw the dream of so many scorch¬ 
ing days and weary nights fading like the mirage of noon. 
The object I had striven for, laboured for, for which I 
had studied Arabic during gay London summers, for 
which I had plotted in Cyrenaica, for which I had pored 
over route maps and charts from Khartoum to Tripoli, 
for which I had waded through ponderous tomes from 
Ptolemy to Behm and Duveyrier, balanced trembling in 
the scale of this man’s mind. Every nerve and sinew, 
still aching from our almost intolerable journey, spoke of 
the strenuous effort made. Surely this must weigh 
heavier than Abdullah’s guile. It did! Somehow the 


188 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


dark-faced guide, the cringing commandant, ceased to 
exist. Hassanein called for a donkey for our messenger 
and pushed the cleverly worded letter into his wallet. 
Then for a moment Mohammed and I were face to face, 
and I looked straight into his keen, boyish eyes, wringing 
his hand with a few words of intense confidence and knew 
instantly that he would not, could not, fail us! 

Thereafter it did not matter that we could not 
leave the camp, that Abdullah’s face was thunderous, 
that the soldiers hid in their tents with the exception of 
the large, faithful Farraj, who offered me pathetic little 
gifts every hour to cheer me up, raw onions, parsnips 
and dry cut grass which makes a kind of liquid 
spinach! I had to pretend to be ill and lie on my bed all 
day behind the harem curtain to escape the distrustful 
Zouias, who peered into the tent every two or three 
minutes to see that we had not escaped. It was a dis¬ 
tinctly trying time, for angry councils were held at 
intervals outside the camp, but we were not invited to 
attend them and the friendly Tebus were absent, though 
once a bronze maiden with wide brown eyes, a cheery 
smile and a large white pea-nut stuck in a hole in her 
nostril, crept to my guarded quarters and offered me 
four eggs with many kindly “Keif halak.” 

In the sunset came Mohammed, smiling, triumphant, 
breathless, having ridden 20 kilometres to Taj over 
a strange country he had never seen before, without track 
or guiding mark, argued with a justly suspicious kaima- 
kaan anxious to defend the prestige of his princes, con¬ 
vinced him of our good faith, learned the whole story of 
Abdullah’s treachery, remounted his white donkey and 
plodded back over the rough sands to our rescue—all in 
eight hours. Certainly Mohammed justified that day my 
long-established faith in the Beduin race and their future. 
He brought a letter of enthusiastic welcome to “their 


FEASTS IN THE HOLY PLACE 189 


Excellencies the honoured guests of the Sayeds,” asking 
them to proceed to Kufara on the morrow and to bring 
blessings and honour to the town by their presence 
therein. 

The mentality of Libya is as changeable as its 
barometer. That night, the men who had wished to kill 
us a few hours before, sat amiably round our camp fire 
and actually told us of their own accord the stories that 
had preceded our coming. They varied extremely, for 
whereas most of them put us down as the heralds of a 
conquering army one said we were cousins of Rohlfs who 
had come to make inquiries as to his treatment. “I 
remember that Nasrani well,” said old Zarrug. “He 
came with a Zouia caravan.” “How many other 
Nasrani were with him?” we asked, remembering the 
Buseima tale that on his return, at least, the German was 
alone. “There were none. He came alone with his big 
horse and a cook called Ali.” The sheikh was quite 
definite on this point. He told us that “Mustapha Bey” 
had gone to Hawawiri to avoid the larger village and 
then, skirting to the east of the Kufara dunes and hills, 
had camped outside Boema, where he was promptly 
made a prisoner. 

January 14 produced about the most unpleasant 
specimen of desert climate. The sun, no doubt, was hot, 
but a cold, strong wind blew from the east, raising 
clouds of sand and making progress difficult. Neverthe¬ 
less, we sent the caravan direct to Kufara and ourselves 
started for Hawawiri. The Zouias meekly allowed us 
to go anywhere we liked, but they did suggest that 
perhaps we were tiring ourselves unnecessarily, for 
there were only three houses in the farther oasis, as all 
the palms were owned by people in Jof and Boema. 
However, we felt we had to visit the place as a lesson 
to the soldiers, who had refused to accompany us the 


190 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


previous day. Therefore, muffled to the eyes in the 
thickest blankets and jerds we could find, astride two 
minute, barebacked donkeys, we plunged into the east 
wind and laboured down the whole length of the narrow 
Hawari oasis. 

The village of our captivity proved to be unexpectedly 
large, for more houses were scattered continually along 
the strip of palms. When we asked the number of 
inhabitants, the only reply was the one word which 
denotes any form of size, long, big, great, powerful, 
plenty, numerous, etc., “wajid”—but I imagine that 
there must be a population of two hundred or more. 
There was a gap between the palms of Hawari and those 
of its little companion, which was only a few square 
kilometres in size, and whose three houses were sur¬ 
rounded by a few huge fig-trees. The figs were nearly 
alT small and hard, but the villainous-looking Zouia, 
brown-haired and green-eyed, with very low brow and 
narrow skull, who accompanied us, knocked down a few 
little purple ones from the top. They were very good 
and comforted us for the awful wind, which froze us 
even at midday, as we tramped over the stony gherds 
that lie on the way to Kufara. 

The red sand continued, mixed with more and more 
patches of black stones, while little rocky ridges rose 
into low dark hills or big mounds, increasing in size after 
Hawari was lost to sight beside her vermilion gherds. 
Each time that we mounted a faint ridge and saw black 
hills in front of us we said, “Those are the last—behind 
those is the secret of the desert.” A dozen times we 
were disappointed as a further waste of stones and rock 
obscured our vision. Finally, when from quite a high 
hillock we saw nothing but mounds and low hills where 
the boulders had almost conquered the red sands, we 
began to wonder if Kufara were a huge joke by which 


FEASTS IN THE HOLY PLACE 191 

the African mind retaliated on European curiosity. By 
every map the oasis is a solid flat block of green just 
beyond the Gara of Hawari and we had already walked 
35 kilometres at least beyond that imposing cliff and 
apparently could see half as far again in front with not 
a sign of a palm. “Look! The sand begins again on 
the horizon,” I said. “It is much paler and there are 
more hills.” “If Kufara is beyond those, I shall give 
up and send home for an aeroplane,” answered my 
companion firmly. 

Thereafter we covered our faces in our jerds and 
struggled on blindly, so that the Sahara gave us her 
secret suddenly and when we saw one of the most 
wonderful views in the world spread almost at our feet, 
we first blinked and rubbed our eyes to see if we were 
asleep and then cursed ourselves as fools for not having 
guessed that the explanation of the mystery was—a wadi! 

For this reason one almost falls over the edge of the 
last black cliff into the soft pale sand of the oasis before 
one realises it is there. They say anticipation is better 
than realisation. They say that success is tasteless and 
that it is only the fight which thrills, but I am no£ 
ashamed to confess my excitement when a whole new 
world seemed to be revealed to me. To the east where 
the cliffs ran out a little, the sacrosanct village of Taj 
perched clear-cut against the sky, high above the oasis 
it guarded. The massive block of the zawia rose above 
the group of strong, dark houses, square, solid, all built 
of blocks of black stone with red sand mortar. The end¬ 
less blind walls gave away no secrets, but here and there 
within the courts rose the triple arched porches of some 
big dwelling and already there were blotches of white 
that told of watchers for our arrival. 

This is the holy place of the Senussi, where are the 
houses of the Sayeds and the blessed qubba of Sidi el- 


192 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


Mahdi, with clustering colleges and mosque all looking 
like grim fortresses, for Taj boasts no blade of grass nor 
speck of green to relieve the monotony of black rock and 
red sand. Below it, east and west, runs a wide, flat 
wadi, its pale, faintly pink sands broken by a great mass 
of palms and green gardens, acacias, figs and feathery 
bushes, all surrounding a curly, vividly blue lake—this to 
the west; while eastwards beyond the guardian sanctuary 
on the cliff are more dotted palms and then a broad splash 
of emerald round another lake, while the whole enchanted 
valley is encircled with low amethyst hills or gherds. 
Scattered here and there upon the rose-petal sand are 
villages whose strong, dark walls look as if fortified 
against more formidable weapons than the peering eyes 
frustrated by their windowless secrecy. 

Jof lies in front by the side of the greenest gardens, 
east of the first blue salt lake. Beyond it Zuruk is hidden 
amidst her palms. Tolab and Tolelib are too far away 
to be visible, for they lie at the western end of the oasis, 
where emerald and coral blur together at the foot of the 
strange purple hills. To the east is Buma, on the way 
to the second lake, with a smaller village, Boema, close 
beside, and beyond again more palms, till the pale sands 
rise to the dusky cliffs that shut in the secret oasis from 
the south. 

We gazed and gazed as if afraid the whole glorious 
view might fade before our sun-burned eyes and leave 
us lost in the desolate, dark waste that lay behind us. 
Then suddenly we felt how very ill and tired we all were, 
for the one well at Hawari to which our suspiciously 
guarded followers were allowed access contained very 
bad water and we were all suffering strange pangs. 
“Wallahi!” said Mohammed. “It is beautiful and I 
am grateful, but how I want to sleep!” And he wound 
himself up in his jerd and flung himself down on the 



THE FOUR EKHWAN WHO RECEIVED US AT TAJ 



HASSANEIN BEY TALKING TO EKHWAN AT TAJ WHILE 
THE AUTHOR PHOTOGRAPHED THEM 




































. 








































■ I I 




















FEASTS IN THE HOLY PLACE 193 


nearest patch of sand. I followed suit, with a blanket 
over my head and one by one the foremost of the retinue 
sank down beside me, so that when the lingering caravan 
caught us up it had to wake half a dozen exhausted 
explorers before we could make a dignified entry into 
the Holy Place. 

Abdullah came out to meet us, for he had taken 
Zeinab and Hauwa the previous night to Sayed Rida’s 
house, as it was not meet that the personal slaves of the 
Sayed should be looked upon by the people. He tried 
one last shot when he saw me riding a camel. “Get 
down! Get down, Khadija!” he shouted loudly so that 
the interested group of loafers might hear. “You can¬ 
not ride into this holy place!” We were still nearly 
half a mile from the nearest house, so we ignored him, 
but when we came to the last hillock we dismounted, 1 
covering my face completely, and with the army of nine 
in battle array behind us we marched towards a very 
dignified group who came forward to greet us. 

Except for the Sayeds themselves and the ekhwan I 
had met for a moment at Jedabia, I had so far talked 
only with merchants and Government officials, a few 
sheikhs of the smaller zawias and the Beduins. Now 
we were meeting the great men of the Senussi, important 
ekhwan, shrewd statesmen as well as religious chiefs. 
They welcomed us with grave, calm dignity, that uncon¬ 
scious, simple dignity that the West can never learn of 
the East, for rank in the former is a ladder up which 
all men may climb, but in the latter it is a tableland 
apart. It is such a remote world, so utterly unattainable 
by those who do not inherit it, that the sheikh may 
safely invite the camel-driver to “fadhl” with him or 
the ekhwan unbend to the bread-seller. Men talk of the 
democracy of the East because there appears to be but 
one distinction—the free-born from the slave, yet even 


194 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


the black Sudani girl may be the mother of a Mahdi! 
There is no shadow of democracy in the untainted East. 
There is only heredity. A man lives by the glory of 
his father and his father’s father and when he may 
not take pride in them it is to the glory of his tribe 
he clings. 

With the grave, massive figures in spotless white 
jerds, under which gleamed the richest colourings, orange, 
red and purple, in splendid embroidered jelabias, we 
entered the first big house on the edge of the cliff. It 
was the dwelling of Sidi Idris, so a great honour was 
done us. Along one side of the big central court ran 
one of the high arched loggias we had seen from 
the hill and this opened into an equally long room, 
immensely high, thickly carpeted, its white plaster 
walls decorated with texts from the Koran and small, 
regular alcoves wherein were unglazed windows pro¬ 
tected by green shutters, over which hung immense 
glass balls like those we put on Christmas trees. The 
ceiling was covered with gay chintz and a row of 
huge ornate lamps, with more pendant green and blue 
balls hung from it. We found ourselves seated in a circle 
facing the open door with four of the reverend ekhwan. 
In the place of honour was Sayed Saleh el Baskari, a 
cousin of Sidi el Abed, his wakil and the acting 
kaimakaan of Kufara, in daffodil yellow and black, with 
purple lining to his wide sleeves. He had a broad, 
intelligent brow and dimples in his bronzed red cheeks, 
a long, drooping black moustache above a firm-lipped 
mouth and tiny thin beard. His eyes were kind and 
his smile frank, but he was the typical Eastern states¬ 
man of few bland words to hide much thought. 

Next to him sat Sayed Abdil Rahman Bu Zetina, a 
small man with broad, grey beard and dark, reflective 
face, level brows and fine-cut nostrils. He might be a 


FEASTS IN THE HOLY PLACE 195 


philosopher, a divine! Then came the mighty Moham¬ 
med Bu Fadil, brother of the absent kaimakaan, 
enormous of person, in pale saffron yellow, with a 
primrose kufiya wound round and round his head above 
the turban, so that much of his plump, shining face, 
with wide-lipped smile and humorous eyes, was hidden 
in its folds. The fourth was a very old man, long and 
lean, with pointed, trailing beard, shrunk, hollow cheeks, 
parchment coloured as his robes, but something of the 
seer burned in his still vital eyes. He, Sayed Osman 
the judge, had known the wonders of Sidi el Mahdi, 
and the passionate faith which makes martyrs was in 
him. The little council read and re-read our letters 
and expressed calmly and graciously their satisfaction. 
Then the subject of our detention in Hawari came up, 
and with it smiles. “You did not choose your 
messenger well,” they said. “Had you heard the 
stories of Abdullah you would have sympathised with 
our hesitation. We did not like that talk ourselves. 
However, we will now relieve you of him.” The tone 
was decided. We wondered what would happen to 
Abdullah. Justice is tactfully slow in the East, but 
when it comes it is final. 

Immediately after our visitors had left, while we were 
putting up gaily painted canvas partitions in the long 
room, black slaves appeared, bearing a banquet in many 
blue bowls on an immense brass tray. This was placed 
on a vermilion cloth on the floor and beside it we sat 
cross-legged, dipping our fingers first into one dish and 
then into another. “This is the real joy of Kufara,” 
said Hassanein, voraciously devouring most of a lamb 
cooked in “mulukhia,” a sort of thin spinach sauce. 
I was silent from pure joy—and a wonderful vegetable 
which I discovered at the bottom of one of the messes 
of thick,, buttery gravy and meat. I hoped Hassanein 


196 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


did not know it was there, so I encouraged him to 
continue with the pseudo-spinach, but he pounced upon 
it suddenly. “Bamia! We have it in Egypt,” he 
exclaimed, and thereafter it was a race! There is 
practically no sugar in Kufara. It costs three mejidies 
an oke, so there were no sweets to our banquet, but a 
great brass bowl and a long-necked ewer were brought 
to us to wash hands and mouth in and, as we shook the 
five weeks’ conglomeration of sand from our flea-bags, 
we were blissfully happy. 

I feel that one should not acknowledge it, but 
certainly January 15 stands out in my mind as a day 
of food! I have described so many fasts ( tha)t I 
remember feeling an intense pleasure in writing my 
diary that night, while Hassanein concocted warm letters 
of thanks to be sent back to Sidi Idris and Sayed Rida 
by a north-bound caravan. 

I had scarcely woken up and blinked at the unfamiliar 
sight of a red and blue carpet when Sayed Mohammed 
el Jeddawi (who had come from Jedda some forty years 
ago, a follower of the sainted Mahdi, and was now wakil 
of Sidi Idris and Sayed Rida) appeared with an offer¬ 
ing of a bowl of sour curdled milk and a palm-leaf 
platter of marvellous stoneless dates, huge, soft, clean, 
golden things which melted in one’s mouth—such as 
Europe has never known! We were warned that at 
9 a.m. there would be a banquet for the whole party in 
the house of Sayed Saleh, so we arrayed ourselves in our 
cleanest garments, not a very imposing spectacle, for I 
had to wear a jerd belted with a scarlet liezaam, as my 
only barracan had served forty days without washing! 

Slaves came to show us the way and we fallowed 
these cheery black personages through a winding sandy 
path between high walls, across a wide space before the 
massed buildings of the zawia with the high, square 


FEASTS IN THE HOLY PLACE 197 


block of Sayed Ahmed Sherif’s house. I began to see 
that there were few houses in Taj, but all of them were 
large, intricate buildings with a maze of courts and 
passages. As a matter of fact, in the holy place, beside 
the clustered houses of the Sayeds, which occupy about 
a third of the town, and the many dependencies of the 
zawia, only the important ekhwan live. Therefore, one 
saw but two classes of people among its dark walls. 
Many slaves in strips of bright colour, or imposing and 
generally portly figures in immaculate white turbans and 
silk jerds over straight tobhs or jelabias in all imaginable 
colours. I noticed one delightful and massive old man 
in a garment the colour of blood oranges with what 
looked like a white shawl bordered with vermilion round 
his shoulders, but'it was difficult to see clearly through 
the one tiny little chink I allowed myself in my thick 
white draperies. 

In the desert I had been as careless of my veil as 
my namesake Khadija, Mohammed’s first wife, a lady 
of forceful character, in whose service the prophet took 
a caravan to Syria before he espoused its owner some 
twenty years older than himself. In Kufara, however, 
the greatest care was necessary and I had to learn to 
endure a more or less perpetual headache from the heavy 
folds and also to make swift photographs from between 
them. The faithless Abdullah had taught us one thing 
at least—to hide our cameras and note-books with more 
care! 

Sayed Saleh’s house was like the maze at Hampton 
Court. However often I went in, I do not think I 
should ever be able to find my way out again. A 
resplendent person with a dark green cloak, much braided 
in gold, flung over his khaki uniform met us in the 
second court, where we left our soldiers to be royally 
feasted in one of the rooms leading off it. After that 


198 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


I counted three more courts and five passages before 
Mohammed and Yusuf were spirited away to their 
separate banquet. Still our guide went on past various 
pairs of yellow shoes discarded at several entrances. At 
last, after two more yards and several passages, we 
entered the central court, with broad, matted and 
carpeted verandas running along two sides. 

Hastily removing our shoes, we went to meet our 
stately host, who beamed his welcome and waved us 
across the wide space between the arches into a long, 
high room whose walls seemed to be entirely hung with 
clocks, barometers, thermometers and other such objects. 
I cannot tell how many instruments there were, but I 
counted fifteen clocks, most of them going. At either 
end was a row of the huge painted, carved chests that 
the great folk carry on their long caravan journeys and 
in most of the alcoves, which were hung with rugs, were 
tea-caddies of every size, shape and colour. A large 
pianola bore reels of Pagliacci and Carmen . Thick dark 
carpets were piled on the matted floor, with rows of stiff 
cushions round the walls, but the thing that interested 
me most, after the meagre rations of our journey, was 
the fringed, scarlet cloth in the centre of which reposed 
a round brass tray laden with food and flanked with all 
sorts of bowls and bottles. 

Our host wished us good appetite. “Bilhana! 
Bilshifa!” “With pleasure and health!” He then 
vanished and a slave lifted an exquisite silver and brass 
ewer to pour water over our hands into its companion 
bowl with a fretted cover. Another brought minute 
cups of black coffee strongly flavoured with red pepper. 
Then we sank cross-legged beside the tray, wide-eyed 
with wonder at the array before us. Arab hospitality 
is prodigious. Everyone gives of his best, but only a 
very great man could provide the Arabian Nights’ feast 


FEASTS IN THE HOLY PLACE 199 


which was offered us. It brought back memories of 
Sayed Rida’s marvellous dinners at Jedabia, especially 
as it was to him and to Sidi Idris that we owed our 
welcome in Kufara, the most loyal and devoted of all 
the Libyan oases, for it is the keynote of the Senussi 
faith. I heard Hassanein repeating rapidly the vital 
points of the speech he intended to make to the 
kaimakaan concerning our return journey and I almost 
shook him. “Never mind those details now!” I 
exclaimed. “How long do you think they will leave 
us alone with this food?” 

There were twelve dishes of lamb cooked in different 
rich sauces, with a monster bowl of strange oddments, 
which I imagine also belonged to the private life of a 
sheep, floating in rich gravy. There were a score of 
poached eggs on silver plates and fifteen vegetables and 
green sticky mounds of “mulukhia” which hid all sorts 
of intricate delicacies. Then there were bowls of curdled 
milk, ^ which I had begun to like, or powdered mint 
leaves and of an unknown liquid which I thought was 
sweet-scented vinegar, with bottles of water, because 
the Senussi law forbids strong drinks. When we paused 
for breath a slave brought us another bowl, this time of 
bitter lemon juice, to renew our appetites and when 
at last these failed, a second cup of the peppered coffee 
appeared before the ceremony of washing hands and 
mouth in the carved ewer. Then fly-whisks were given 
us and we leant against the hard, stiff cushions, feeling 
beautifully replete, until our host joined us and we did 
business in the Oriental fashion, while he made three 
series of tea, the first bitter, the second scented and 
the third with mint. He had an elaborate silver tea-set 
spread before him and he warmed the teapot himself 
on a little brazier, while we skirted round the subjects 
nearest our hearts, approaching, retreating, avoiding 


200 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


obstacles or shadows of such and winning his obvious 
approval by the tactful way we left the matter of our 
future travels in his hands. As I regretfully relinquished 
my third empty glass a slave poured scent over me, 
strong and sweet, and another offered me a silver incense 
burner over whose warm perfumed smoke I might dry 
my scent-drenched hands! In all the generous-hearted 
East I had never met this last pretty custom before. 

When the due proportion of business for a first visit 
—a very minute amount it would appear to Americans 
—had been discussed, we bade farewell to our host and 
returned to our cool house on the cliff. Since I said 
this was a day of food, let me add immediately that 
about midday the delightful wakil appeared with an 
enormous basin of “couss-couss” about two feet in 
diameter. On the top of it reposed most of the jaw of 
a sheep and the whole mass was encircled by a continual 
line of sausages and a phalanx of hard-boiled eggs. 
Now, if there is one thing on earth I love it is “couss- 
couss,” but for once I looked at it almost indifferently. 
Hassanein suggested various desperate remedies, such as 
instantly walking round the wadi, but I would not be 
parted from my “couss-couss.” I looked at it lovingly 
and, after a violent argument with Farraj over the 
possibilities of heating a quart or two of water for a 
bath, found energy enough to eat a pathetic little hole 
in one side of the floury mess. 

The climax to our day was at sunset, when we were 
summoned to another huge banquet at the house of the 
ever-hospitable Sidi Saleh, who was determined to honour 
the Sayed’s guests by every means in his power. The 
memory of that last meal is somewhat blurred, but I 
believe the centre dish was the larger part of a sheep 
on a mountain of rice, flanked by bowls of hot, very 
sweet milk. As we waited for our host to join us in 


FEASTS IN THE HOLY PLACE 201 


order tactfully to brush the antennse of business, I com¬ 
plimented Hassanein on the thoroughness with which 
he had assimilated the grave, aloof dignity of a Sheikh 
el-Alim. He looked at me blankly. “It is not dignity. 
It is torpor!” he said. 

Of course, there were other moments in the day. 
The most delightful little person about nine years old 
came to see us after we returned from the kaimakaan’s 
morning feast. He had the largest and most velvety 
brown eyes, surrounded by a thick fringe of curly lashes, 
with a faint shadow of kohl to accentuate their beauty. 
A prince and the son of a prince, little Sidi Omar had 
all the dignity of his race. He was garbed in a long 
purple silk jelabia, opening over a rose-coloured 
embroidered jubba, while his little pale face was framed 
in a miniature white kufiya under a purple tarboush. 
He insisted on accompanying us as we wandered round 
the sacred village, giving us grave advice. “Sitt Khadija, 
cover your face now,” he would say as the snowy trap¬ 
pings of a bulky ekhwan appeared at an unsuspected 
door, or “Sidi Ahmed Bu Hassanein, you must salute 
So-and-so; he is the son of So-and-so.” 

From the edge of the cliff, where the last houses 
almost overhung the steep descent, there was a glorious 
view of the whole wadi. One could stroll east of Taj 
and look across pale sands, broken by green of barley 
and wheat, to the lake amidst palms and the narrow 
end of the valley where the hills close in. One could 
gaze straight south over the Sayed’s gardens to the solid 
walls of Jof rising in tiers on slight mounds with the 
famous ancient zawia standing a little apart and in the 
far distance the line of Zuruk’s palms, where a wide 
break in the guardian dunes gave a glimpse of flatter 
sands. To the west the view was limited only by one’s 
eyesight. A few large isolated houses lay beside the great 


202 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 

mass of palms, which swept round the second streak of 
blue water beside a dry salt marsh and away, ever 
widening to the far horizon where lay Tolab and Tolelib 
in a dark blur as the valley ran beyond the strangely 
luminous hills. 

When we started to stroll down one of the steep 
defiles that lead from the rocky tableland to the smooth 
sands below, Sidi Omar’s brilliant smile disappeared. 
“Do not go down alone,” he urged. “The Zouias 
are bad people. Perhaps some of them will ask you 
questions—why you have come to their country and for 
what business?” Therefore, we stayed that day on the 
plateau and I took many photographs beneath the 
shadow of my heavy draperies. For once I was grateful 
to the Moslem veil, for Hassanein used tactfully to lure 
our companions away to look at a view and I would 
wander shyly and slowly, with the uncertain gait of the 
harem women, to the desired point of vantage, whip 
out the 3a kodak from my enormous sleeve and snap 
some aspect of the enchanted valley before aimlessly 
straying back. I risked a lightning snapshot at the main 
block of the zawia while Hassanein greeted a learned 
sheikh, but I felt it was dangerous, because there were 
a few students lingering round the door beside the 
round tower in the wall and they must have seen the 
flash of the lens between the white folds of my girdled 
jerd. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE “CITIES” OF KUFARA 

O X January 16 our battles began again. Unfor¬ 
tunately Hassanein was ill, but he dragged him¬ 
self up for a last effort. Perhaps success had gone 
to our heads a little, for not content with visiting Taj 
and Jof, the religious centre and the seat of Government, 
we had lately made plans for exploring the oasis to its 
farthest limits. In vain the unfortunate retinue pointed 
out that it would be another case of Hawawiri. “The 
Zouias are in the two ‘cities,’ ” they urged. “There is 
nothing in the villages. You can throw a stone into 
Buma from these walls, so why tire yourselves further?” 
We felt that this sudden thought for our comfort had 
an ulterior motive, so we pursued the subject. “I should 
like to see the people,” I said to Yusuf. “You will see 
them all in the suq at Jof. Every week they come in to 
buy and to sell. They are savages, the Zouias who live 
on the edge of the oasis, and they are poor people with¬ 
out interest.” “Well, I should like to see the western 
end of the wadi.” Yusuf looked puzzled. “But you 
can see everything in Kufara from this mountain,” he 
said with some truth. I was reduced to retorting that 
I could not see the actual houses of Tolab and Zuruk. 
Our fat retainer had a distinct sense of humour. “Nor 
could you see the houses of Hawawiri from our camp!” 
he reminded. “I want to meet the heads of the Zouias 
and if I go to all the villages I can talk to them.” 
Yusuf seized upon this happily. “They can come 


204 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


and see you and then you can ask them about their 
people.” 

Thus word went forth from the kaimakaan that all 
the tribal headmen were to come to Taj to meet the 
important strangers and the hour and place appointed 
for this most solemn council were “four hours before 
sunset in the house of Sidi Idris.” We had anticipated 
battle, because Abdullah had been absent for twenty-four 
hours and we learned too late that he had been making 
a tour of the small villages, expounding the treacherous 
stories which had failed in the Senussi centres, but we 
did not expect quite such a disastrous meeting. The 
fifteen sheikhs who appeared nearly two hours late at 
the rendezvous, were weak and convinced that if they 
carried out their designs they would be acting against 
the wish of the Sayeds whom they respected and 
honoured. Yet so great was their long-cherished loath¬ 
ing of the stranger, which had been fostered by years 
of isolation till it was as much a part of their creed as 
the Shehada or the Zakah, that they were determined 
at all costs to prevent our penetrating farther into their 
country. One gradually absorbed something of the 
mentality of this strange, distrustful people as one sat 
amidst the circle of gloomy, suspicious faces. 

For generations the Zouias have been known as a 
lawless tribe. Originally they came from the Fezzan by 
groups of families, each owning a particular headman, 
but they never seem to have possessed one supreme 
chief. The two most famous of the ancient sheikhs 
were Abdullah Shekari and Helaig, though it was Agil 
who met Sidi Ben Ali es-Senussi in Mecca and told him 
of the strange enclosed land in the centre of the Sahara 
which the Zouias had conquered from the enfeebled 
Tebu. The great ascetic had already set flame to the 
religious imagination of North Africa from Morocco 


THE “CITIES’’ OF KUFARA 


205 


eastwards, but he knew nothing of southern Libya. Yet 
he told the half savage tribesmen that in a wadi near 
Taiserbo would be found an irak tree, from the wood 
of which the Arabs make their primitive form of tooth¬ 
brushes. The tree was duly discovered, the miracle 
announced to the tribe and, later, Agil went north again 
to Gebel Akhbar in Cyrenaica, to offer the allegiance 
of his people to the great Senussi. Kufara, the original 
sultanate of the Tebus, had become since the Zouia 
conquest some two hundred and fifty years before, a 
danger spot to every caravan, for it was a regular 
stronghold of brigands who lived by plunder. 

It was a definite custom that all travellers, especially 
merchants, passing through the oasis, should pay “darb,” 
a duty which varied according to the value of their 
merchandise, otherwise the caravan would be attacked 
and plundered. 

Before the coming of the Senussi there were only 
palms in the oasis and the tribesmen were content with 
the most primitive clothes, hardly better than those of 
the skin-clad Tebus. It was Sidi el Mahdi who intro¬ 
duced the jerd and the jubba. 

The dawn of civilisation came with the ekhwan sent 
by Sidi Ben Ali, but the Mahdi made Kufara the wonder¬ 
land it is to-day and by extensive planting started the 
cultivation of grain, fruit and flowers. Sidi Idris owes 
some of his influence among the Zouias to the fact that 
he is the great Mahdi’s son, though his own strong 
personality counts for much in a land where striking 
individuality is rare. Under the Senussi government 
the Zouias were obliged to give up their organised 
brigandage, but with such a long history of murder and 
plunder behind them—half the tragedies of the Sahara 
may be laid at their door—it is not to be wondered at 
that they are still lawless and wild. Every man fears 


206 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


them and only a power as great as the Senussi could hold 
them in check. They were practically infidels before 
they made their submission to Sidi Ben Ali, having very 
nearly lapsed from Islam, though, as they come from 
Yemen, they probably formed part of the armies who 
followed Beni Suleim in the eleventh century, from 
Midian through Syria and Egypt to Cyrenaica where 
some tribes settled, notably the Abidat, Hassan, Faied, 
Brahsa, Hohsa, Abid Auwaghir and Mogharba. With 
the fierce religious fanaticism which they absorbed fresh 
from the fervent ascetics who were enthusiastically 
preaching a new, pure Islam, were mixed the hatred 
and scorn of all who had not received this teaching. 
“He who is not with us is against us,” was interpreted 
literally and the land was closed against the stranger, 
be he Christian or Moslem. 

It was easy, therefore, to understand the attitude of 
the white-robed figures who crouched immobile round 
one end of the long room. They felt that they were 
defending not only their jealously hidden country but 
their religion from the strangers whom they hated and 
feared. In their hearts they could not believe that the 
greatly revered Sayeds had authorised our journey. 
Continual distrust and suspicion are bad daily com¬ 
panions. They had marred and lined the brooding faces 
round us till there was little left of the frank, fearless 
Beduin. On one side sat Hamid Bu Korayim, son of 
the man who had saved Rohlfs, his dark, narrow face set 
in mute obstinacy. In front of us was Sheikh Suleiman 
Bu Matar, the only spot of colour in the group, for he 
wore a brilliant orange robe under his jerd, and Bush 
Naf el Ghadad, an old man with a grey beard who 
occasionally poured a little oil on the troubled waters. 
Others present were Sheikh Badr and Mabruk Bu 
Helayig. 


THE “CITIES” OF KUFARA 


207 


The whole assembly had made up its mind to oppose 
us and they would listen to no argument. “Khallas! 
It is ended! It is ended! Of what use further speech?” 
they cried. “If you have a letter from Sidi Idris, saying 
that you are to visit all our villages by name, then you 
shall go,” said Bu Korayim. “You know that we have 
the Sayed’s permission to visit Kufara. No traveller can 
set foot beyond Jedabia without it. Do you think we 
should have risked certain death? TV^e know that no one 
can hope to visit even the outskirts of your country with¬ 
out the consent of Sidi Idris, but we are his guests!” 
They changed their ground. “You have seen Kufara,” 
urged Suleiman Bu Matar. “Jof and Taj are the 
‘markas’ [centre of government]. The villages are 
not interesting. There are no zawias even.” Argument 
was useless, for none dared give way before the others. 
We saw that one or two were weakening out of respect 
for the fact that we were guests of their rulers, but the 
old inherited instinct welded them together. Generally 
it would be impossible to get fifteen Arabs to remain 
united against strong arguments for a quarter of an 
hour, but we were fighting a principle as profoundly 
part of their existence as food and drink. “Khallas! 
Khallas!” resounded from every side and, without even 
waiting for the usual ceremony of tea-drinking, the 
meeting rose hurriedly. “We have spoken,” they said, 
“and argument is of no avail.” “If you go, you go 
at your own risk,” added Sheikh Badr. Yet before the 
last flow of protest they had read the “Fatha” all 
together to show that they honoured the Sayed in the 
persons of his guests! 

So the strange council of impulse and reason came to 
an end and, as the last white-robed figure fumbled for 
its shoes at the edge of the matted loggia, Hassanein 
turned to me despondently. “We have failed abso- 


208 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 

lutely!” he said. I would not agree. The guests had 
come to us strong with a great resolve, wound up to battle 
pitch, each man determined to support the others. Now 
they would separate and, each alone, would have the nasty 
cold feeling of wondering what he had done and what 
the final result of his action would be. “Wait!” said 
I. “Very soon they will feel that they have shown us 
how dangerous it is to cross their borders and they will 
only remember in whose house they met us!” 

Later in the afternoon a Mojabra merchant, Tawati 
Haifan, cousin of our old friend She-ib, and one of the 
ekhwan, Sayed Mohammed Semmen, visited us, partly 
to welcome and partly to console us for the behaviour of 
the Zouias. “They are bad people,” they said. “They 
have always been like that.” 

Then sunset came and with it the summons to dinner 
in the house of many courts. The Wadi of Kufara is 
always beautiful, but at sunset it is magical, for the 
girdle of strange hills glows with wonderful mauve and 
violet lights and the oasis lies half in shadow where blend 
the emerald and sapphire of palm and lake, half in flame, 
where the burning sands reflect the glory of the sky. It 
used to make me catch my breath with ever-new surprise * 
as I came out of the discreet little door in the wake of 
the ebony slave, who took a great interest in the state 
of my appetite and never could understand why I could 
not cope with three separate breakfasts sent me by as 
many hosts. 

I never realised more fully the remoteness of Kufara 
than when, after the deft-handed slaves had spirited away 
the huge, brass tray, and with it every trace of our meal, 
we sat motionless beside our host in the long shadowed 
room, while he silently and very slowly made his carefully 
prepared tea. The many high-walled courts produced a 
silence in that dim room of thick carpets and rare lights 



THE KAIMAKAAN AT TAJ 














































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THE “CITIES” OF KUFARA 


209 


as profound as the stillness of the desert. Words, even 
smiles, would have been out of place during the little 
ceremony, while rose-water or mint was being measured 
gravely by the sensitive fingers of our host. Beyond the 
circle of light cast by a solitary candle in a high silver 
sconce were only vague forms of cushions or huge chests 
looming in remote corners. Within it was a dark, thin¬ 
faced young sheikh, all in white, from his silken kufiya 
to his flowing jerd and beside him our grave, reflective 
host, with a vivid green shawl bordered in purple 
framing his bronzed face and drooping over a long 
green jubba, which showed the richly embroidered sedairi 
beneath. A jewelled hand slowly poured drop after 
drop of essence into the amber glasses, while the scented 
smoke of a little brazier drifted gently across the picture. 
One heard Time pause to catch the shadows of thoughts 
that wavered between the light and the dark, so mystic 
was the silence. Then suddenly and startlingly clear 
came the sound that perfected the harmony—the cry of 
the muezzin for the evening prayer! 

Next day a small and somewhat forlorn party 
descended one of the steep defiles into the wadi. It 
consisted of Hassanein and myself, mounted on micro¬ 
scopic yet exceedingly unruly donkeys, the Commandant 
of the Gendarmerie, resplendent in pale grey uniform 
slashed and faced with red and an immense tasselled 
kufiya, with four fully armed soldiers and a most pic¬ 
turesque Zouia sheikh, Mohammed Teifaitah, the only 
tribesman who was brave enough to accompany us. He, 
w^as splendidly mounted on a white Arab horse, curved 
of neck and long of pastern, with a scarlet saddle, bow- 
pommelled, five different coloured saddle-cloths, and 
silver stirrups rather like sharp coal scuttles. 

Kufara is narrow at the eastern end and with a break 
in the southern wall of cliff, where a broad space runs 


210 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


out beyond Zuruk, it widens gradually as it goes west. 
The main mass of palms begins between Jof and Taj 
and sweeps west to Talakh, but there are several isolated 
groups, of which those of Boema and Buma are the 
largest. We rode first eastwards, along the foot of the 
cliffs and I realised as we ambled through thick, pale coral 
sand that if one wishes to keep the impression of an en¬ 
chanted valley one should never leave the heights. There 
are beautiful spots in the valley, where palm and tamarisk 
and rush blend their shades of green besides some 
unruffled lake, but it is from above that one grasps the 
whole wonder of water and wood and decorative dark- 
walled towns, set in the close circle of jewelled hills. 

As we neared Boema, its few houses, large, square 
or oblong blocks of reddish-purple, standing just below 
the northern cliffs a little apart from its gardens, the 
sheikh grew very nervous. White figures came out to 
look at us and he urged us away, but I wanted a 
photograph! Let no one imagine it is easy to manage 
a wild, toy donkey, keep one’s face completely hidden 
and secrete about one’s pocketless person two kodaks and 
a spare roll of films! 

The oasis at Boema is lovely, for various kinds of 
thorn, a few dark green olives, tamarisks, acacias and the 
feathery grey trees described as “firewood,” all mingled 
their foliage with the clustered palms. A kilometre 
away is Buma. At one end of the oasis are a few poor 
dwellings of the slaves who tend the gardens, some of 
them made of palms, some of uneven sand bricks. At 
the other there is a village of the usual dark houses, while 
a lovely turquoise lake, bordered with high rushes, lies 
in the centre. On the southern shore, w T here there is 
a stretch of rough, dry, salt waste, we found the ruins 
of a large Tebu fort. These ancient people chose their 
sites well, for this high, round honeycomb stood on the 


THE “CITIES” OF KUFARA 


211 


very edge of the water, its grey, broken walls one with 
the salt stone that surrounded it and made passage 
difficult from the land. There were one or two of the 
small, round oven houses scattered near the lake and 
we wondered if Buma had been the capital of the old 
Tebu Kufara—then called Tazerr—for this fort was 
bigger than anything at Buseima, but roofless and 
windowless as usual. 

From the plantations of pumpkins, radishes, parsnips, 
onions, with neatly irrigated patches of wheat and barley, 
we drove our escort south down the long, flat stretch of 
gravelly sand to Zuruk, a long strip of palms chiefly 
owned by Sidi Idris and other Sayeds. There is no 
village in this southernmost oasis. It is inhabited only 
by the Sudani slaves who look after the dates. We 
stopped at a palm-leaf fence to ask a huge ebony figure 
in a tattered white shirt for some dates. He dived into 
his plaited leaf “tukel,” reminiscent of the Sudan, and 
reappeared with a gourd full of large, dry, purplish dates 
mixed with the lemon-coloured unripe ones that the 
Arabs eat to quench their thirst. We rode the whole 
length of Zuruk’s palms, for by this time the Zouia 
had laid aside his suspicions and was becoming con¬ 
fidential. We asked him how long ago his people had 
come to Kufara, and he replied, “My father, my grand¬ 
father and his father have all lived here, but before then 
the tribe came. Sheikh Mohammed was fifty-six, so 
we gathered that the conquest had taken place some 
hundred and fifty years ago. It is a pathetic thing that 
the Tebus are disappearing from the wadi even faster 
than the traces of their odd round houses. Only a few 
years ago there were about five hundred of these dark- 
skinned, round-faced people, with smooth hair, broad 
nostrils and wide mouths, but devoid of the thick 
negroid lips. Now there are between fifty and a 


212 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


hundred. Nearly all of them live in a palm-leaf village 
with a few round mud hovels on the outskirts of Jof. 
They are more pastoral in habit than the Arabs, so, in 
spite of their debased position as employees of the 
Zouias, they own a good many goats and sheep and a 
few camels. 

There is practically no pasturage in the wadi, only 
a little coarse grass or rushes by the lakes and sparse 
tufts of the brown, mossy hattab we saw at Buseima. 
Therefore there are very few flocks indeed and milk 
and meat are luxuries except among the prosperous 
ekhwan of Taj. Fresh water is not plentiful, for there 
are no springs. There is absolutely no rainfall. Some¬ 
times for eight consecutive years there is not a single 
shower. All the gardens are irrigated from wells, but 
slave labour is abundant. Yet Kufara in summer must 
be a veritable Eden. From her grapes she makes the 
sweet vinegar we drank at banquets and from her roses 
the essence dropped into our tea, as well as the heavier 
perfume used in braziers. She has olives for oil, 
almonds, lemons, figs, melons and peaches. Her leather 
comes from the Sudan and the shoemakers in Jof 
fashion delightful red heel-less shoes of soft, pliable hide 
without nails, but with thongs to bind round the 
ankles. The Tebus make baskets and rope from the 
palm leaves, but there is no weaving. The rich clothes 
of the princely ekhwan, which were our envy and 
admiration, came from Egypt. “Before the war there 
were many caravans. One came nearly every day” 
(which means that one was nearly always within the 
confines of the oasis, perhaps a weekly arrival). “Now 
there are very few,” said Sheikh Mohammed. 

We learned that when a caravan came from the Sudan 
it consisted of 150 camels, belonging to perhaps a dozen 
different merchants, who brought ivory, feathers, sandal, 


THE “CITIES” OF IvUFARA 


213 


leather; but smuggling of slaves had been difficult since 
the stringent French law had decreed that the whole 
caravan should be confiscated if one slave were found in it. 
As a matter of fact, we had been thirty-seven days on the 
route from Jedabia and we had not met a single caravan 
from Wadai, nor did any arrive while we were in Kufara; 
but this may have been partly due to the fact that the 
Beduins prefer travelling in summer, when they march 
all night and sleep most of the day. They can go farther 
this way, without suffering from the intense cold of the 
winter dawn. Also the winter is the foaling time for 
camels in Libya, which makes travelling precarious. 

There is a large market in Jof twice a week, to which 
people come from as far off as Hawari and Tolab to 
barter pigeons, eggs, fowls, girbas and foodstuffs. Slaves 
are not now sold in the public square on Mondays and 
Thursdays, but many a human bargain is arranged in the 
shuttered houses around it. For 100 mejidies one can 
buy a man and for 200 a woman, but young girls of 
fourteen and fifteen fetch up to 250 mejidies (nearly 
£50). “These be high prices,” said the Zouia despond¬ 
ently. “But the people in Barca have bought many 
slaves lately and there are fewer caravans.” We learned 
that the Tuaregs of the west had regular slave farms, 
where they bred and sold human beings as we do cattle. 
“You can see sixty slaves in one farm,” said our guardian 
sheikh. As an instance of how uncivilised were the Zouias 
before the coming of the Senussi, he told us that a certain 
Sheikh Mohammed Sherif went to Benghazi, the end of 
the world, and came back with an oil lamp which was 
looked upon as a miracle by the tribesmen of Kufara. 
By the power of a little kerosene he ruled them for years, 
giving judgments and discovering malefactors by inter¬ 
preting its light. 

Deep in conversation we skirted the rough, rocky 


214 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


ground to the south of the broad belt of Jof palms and 
came to Talakh, at the end of the emerald maze where 
Sayed Ahmed owns many gardens. A whole colony of 
slaves dwelt in clusters of “tukels,” within neat palm-leaf 
fences and there were some biggish houses of sand bricks, 
on whose flat roofs masses of dates were drying in the 
sun. The afternoon was far advanced by this time, but 
the Zouia was anxious to show us the beauty spot of 
the oasis, so we rode through the thickest palm groves 
between mounds of grey bushes until quite suddenly we 
came to a little round lake, whose still water reflected 
every frond of the palms drooping round it under the 
shadow of high amber banks which shut in the pool on 
every side, so that duck sported on it peacefully without 
fear of onlookers. It was a lovely picture, with the rose- 
red hills in the distance, but we were glad to turn our 
donkeys’ heads homewards and still gladder when the 
massive houses of Taj appeared on the most precipitous 
cliff in the distance. 

The names of the villages in Kufara are interesting, 
for whereas Taj means very suitably “a crown,” and 
Jof “inside,” Zuruk and Tolab are the names of two 
tribes which are still to be found in Egypt. Sheikh 
Mohammed told us that they had helped the Zouias to 
conquer the unfortunate Tebu and had received the 
places bearing their names as their share of the spoil. 
Later, however, they had grown tired of the remote 
valley and of the endless disputes between Zouias and 
Tebus, which lasted till the coming of the Senussi, and 
had returned to their own country. 

January 18 saw the virtual end of our pilgrimage. As 
we took leave of Sidi Saleh, after our third cup of mint 
tea, he asked us if we would like to visit the Zawia of 
the Asayad. Daily we had passed the massive block of 
buildings from which generally issued the sound of the 


THE “CITIES” OF KUFARA 


215 


chanted Koran. We knew that inside those formidable 
walls was the qubba of the Mahdi, a symbol only, for the 
Senussi believe their saint still living, but nevertheless, 
the goal of all Senussi pilgrims and the object of almost 
as much veneration as the tomb of the Prophet. In the 
course of slow, dignified conversation, with the correct 
proportion of prolonged silences, we had delicately ap¬ 
proached the subject of visiting the revered shrine, but 
no other sanction than “Insha-allah” had been vouch¬ 
safed us. Time and date are never suggested in the 
East. Thus we had to wait patiently till the kaimakaan 
was satisfied that the suitable moment had come. 

We passed through the large, low mosque which 
joined the zawia. Rows of great, square, whitewashed 
pilasters supported the heavy wooden palm trunks form¬ 
ing the beams of the flat roof. It was utterly unadorned' 
and the “mimbar” was of the simplest description, with¬ 
out paint or carving; yet for a moment, as I stood on the 
threshold of the holy of holies of a great warrior confra¬ 
ternity, austere and fanatical, I forgot the troubles and 
dangers of a long journey. I understood something of 
the awe and reverence of any other shoeless pilgrim, who, 
after much travel, steps at last from the white mats of 
the mosque into the dim chamber where he will kiss the 
sacred qubba. For the first time I realised the great 
peace which comes at a journey’s end, yet the long, 
narrow room was unlike our Western idea of a shrine. 
Nearly the whole of the floor space was occupied by the 
graves of members of the Senussi family, oblongs of 
desert sand, with a stone edging and an upright slab at 
either end. A narrow carpeted pathway ran round these 
to the farthest corner w r here stood the qubba of the Mahdi 
—an ark-shaped wooden framework covered with a red 
cloth. 

As befits a creed which forbids all luxury, the sim- 


216 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 

plicity of the room was striking. There was nothing to 
impress the pilgrim except his own passionate reverence. 
His worship must of necessity be a thing of the spirit 
and not of the senses. Yet that low dim chamber in the 
middle of the Sahara is in its way as impressive as 
St. Peter’s at Rome, or the Temple of Heaven in Pekin! 
Cardinals and mandarins may bring mixed motives to 
their worship, but the fierce-eyed Beduin in rough white 
burnus, worn wooden rosary hanging from sun-dried 
fingers, prays with a strenuous simplicity and earnestness 
that must impress the very atmosphere with the sincerity 
of his devotion. Thus I felt as, hands raised to Heaven, 
I murmured the “Bismallah Arahman Arahim” under 
keen watching eyes; but when we passed out into the 
sunlight the impression faded and one’s guard was up 
again! 

First there was a fight with the blacks who had become 
hopelessly unruly. Having been only remarkable for 
their absence when there was any real danger, they now 
devoted their time to eating, sleeping and talking of 
their prowess. We, therefore, decided to send them 
back to Jalo by the main caravan route and go on our¬ 
selves to Jaghabub. This time the retinue protested in 
vain. We had suffered too much from their fears coming 
in to wish to return through the continual minor panics 
of the Zouia country. The Jaghabub route is consider¬ 
ably shorter, for it cuts off the angle of Jalo and, above 
all, it is utterly unknown to Europeans. As it necessi¬ 
tates at least twelve days without water, some 600 
kilometres, it is rarely attempted except by very large 
well-equipped caravans, who can afford to lose a few 
camels by the way, or by the Senussi family, who can 
send camels laden with water on ahead to fill some 
reservoirs especially placed for the purpose. 

We had seen the dangers of travelling with a 


THE “CITIES” OF KUFARA 217 

moderately large and inefficient retinue, so we now deter¬ 
mined to try the other extreme. We proposed to take 
with us only Mohammed and Yusuf, a guide and perhaps 
a camel-man. We should have to take four camels for 
water alone and another two at least for fodder, before 
we could think of luggage and provisions. The latter are 
easy, for it is no use providing for more than seventeen 
days at the outside after leaving Hawawiri. If by that 
time the traveller is not safely in Jaghabub he is dead, 
for there are no wells on the route after leaving Zakar, 
three days from Hawawiri. Altogether it would be an 
exciting journey and, looking at the blank white space 
on our survey map, where not even Zakar was marked, 
we longed to put a long red line across it. Caravans from 
Egypt should logically do the Jaghabub route unless they 
go direct from Siwa, which means an extra half-day 
without water. The alternative is seven days to Jalo, 
one to Buttafal, then seven to Zieghen and a further 
five to Hawawiri. The worst point of the more direct 
route is that there are four days of bad dunes just before 
reaching Jaghabub. However, anything was preferable 
to trying to keep the peace between Beduins and Sudanese 
for three weeks, with the accompanying tale of sore feet 
and overladen camels, water squandered, fuel all used 
during the first few days and doubtless a delay at each 
well. 

We spent most of the morning arguing with the 
soldiers, who all apparently wanted to get married at 
Jaghabub, probably on the reward they hoped to get 
for accompanying us there. Then visitors began to 
arrive, which proved that the mental atmosphere was 
changing. The chilly, doubtful feeling I had predicted 
was beginning to trouble the Zouias who had so stormily 
swept from our presence two days before. The dark 
Hamid Bu Korayim was the first to come. He had been 


218 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


one of the loudest to denounce the strangers. Now he 
said: “I wanted all the men to come out to meet you 
with drums, but there was dissension. What you said 
at the meeting was true, but it would not have been good 
for me to have agreed with you then. I was obliged to 
support the others, for we had arranged what we were 
going to say beforehand.” This was a poor specimen 
of Arab mentality, but he was followed by an entirely 
different type, Suleiman Bu Matar, old and much- 
travelled, very devoted to the Senussi family. At the 
original meeting he had been calm and suave, only 
saying that we should waste time by going to the villages. 
Now he said with very quiet dignity, “Your words were 
wise, but you must not judge the people here by your 
own countrymen. Egypt is the mother of the world. 
The villagers here are very ignorant.” He then offered 
to accompany us to the other end of the oasis. 

Thereafter the retinue were somewhat less frightened 
and we went to Jof without difficulty. We rode along 
a little causeway which crossed the big, curly lake in 
the midst of the Jof palm gardens and when we came 
to the rough, salt marsh on the farther side, we found 
the ruins of a whole Tebu village. Some of the houses 
were amazingly small but very well preserved—the hard 
mortar smooth and always polished on the outside— 
looking exactly like round clay ovens. As at Buma, 
on the very edge of the water was a castle. It appears 
that the Tebus fought only with spears, so a strip of 
water was a good protection against attack. Therefore, 
wherever there is a lake in the Kufara or Buseima oases, 
one is pretty certain to find the ruins of villages and 
primitive forts. The Zouias won an easy victory because 
they had guns and gunpowder. Jof is a large natite 
town stretching for about a kilometre in a line of solid, 
long walls without door or window. At one end is the 


THE “CITIES” OF KUFARA 


219 


old zawia established by the ekhwan of Sidi Ben Ali. It 
is an insignificant building, very low, with a dark, bare 
mosque, large and very well kept, and in a further room 
a qubba of the daughters of Sidi el Mahdi. This tomb 
is enclosed in a green wooden frame and hung with 
quantities of ostrich eggs. It is much venerated and in 
one of the courts we saw some pilgrims from Wadai, 
fierce-looking blacks with rosaries and long palm staves. 

The whole life of an Arab town goes on within the 
high, impenetrable walls. Otherwise they are cities of 
the dead. I doubt if we saw a dozen figures in the streets 
of Jof till we came to the Tebu settlement, yet it has a 
population of some seven hundred. The women literally 
never set foot outside their houses. The whole time I 
was in Taj I never saw a woman except one or two 
elderly black slaves. It must be an extraordinary life 
within a few square feet bounded by blind walls. The 
ladies of the Sayeds’ families can visit each other perhaps, 
as in Taj the houses of the Senussi family are adjoining. 
But I have never been in any Eastern town where life 
was so reserved and aloof. Presumably the men gossip, 
but if so, they do it in each other’s houses, for one never 
sees a group in the streets. Very occasionally one notices 
a grave figure with brass ewer or humble teapot, per¬ 
forming the necessary ablution at sunset before saying 
the obligatory prayers, or perhaps a reflective grey- 
bearded individual standing at an open door. The great 
difference between the Senussi towns and any other desert 
city is the entire absence in the former of the cafes, which 
usually form the centre of life and movement. They 
vary in size and splendour, but, from Omdurman to 
Tuggourt, one finds in every village at least a mud-walled 
room with rough benches and little tables, or, in the 
more primitive places, merely a raised ledge running 
round the walls, where all the menfolk gossip over long- 


220 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


stemmed narghilehs, while generally a dancer performs 
some variation of the danse dn ventre. In Libya, 
smoking, drinking and dancing-girls are forbidden by 
the Senussi law. Therefore the cafe has no raison d'etre 
and the towns are silent, apparently deserted, infinitely 
discreet! 

We rode all round the scattered masses of Jof’s 
houses, meeting She-ib’s brother, Ahmed el Khadri, a 
well-known Senussi clerk, who greeted us warmly and 
was delighted to get news of his family. Then we 
climbed the little group of gherds beyond the town and 
looked down upon the Tebu village whose headman is 
Sa-ad el Tebu. Very primitive were the dwellings after 
the solid Zouia buildings, for the greater part were just 
palm-leaf huts. The men were generally tall and clad 
in sheepskins, the wool worn inside. Their food, when 
they travel, consists of powdered locusts and powdered 
dates mixed together. The women wore only one long 
dark piece of stuff, wound round them like a barracan, 
but generally tattered and somewhat inadequate. The 
young ones were distinctly pretty with charming round 
faces, wide, long-lashed eyes, almost black skins, but 
without any of the swollen negroid characteristics. 

As we rode back across the wadi I discovered the right 
adjective for the cliffs of Kufara. Of course they were 
amber, a rich, mellow amber, which detracted from the 
green of the palms, so that the gardens of Jof took on 
a wonderful silvery-grey appearance against the burnt 
gold of the hills. 

That night, while meticulously measuring the just 
proportion of tea, sugar and spice, the kaimakaan offered 
to show us an original letter of Sidi Ben Ali es Senussi 
to the people of Wajanga on the road to Wadai. I 
think our enthusiastic interest pleased him, for he at 
once detached an immense key from his belt and gave it 


THE “CITIES” OF KUFARA 


221 


to a slave, who brought a casket not much bigger than 
the key. This was placed solemnly in the circle of light 
on the dark-piled carpets and in the almost tangible 
silence that seemed to reign within that house, Sidi 
Saleh reverently drew forth a single sheet of rough quarto 
paper, three-quarters of which was covered with minute, 
old-fashioned Arabic. I give the literal translation in 
the appendix because the letter is of historical importance 
as it announces the Senussi’s intention of accepting the 
allegiance of the Zouias, of coming to Kufara with the 
tacit understanding that his rule would be accepted so 
far south of Wajanga. It was an exceedingly interesting 
document and one fully appreciated its value in the 
exotic house of Sidi el Abed in the middle of the legendary 
oasis. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE FLIGHT FROM TAJ 

HEREAFTER we settled down for a day or two 



to the reserved and placid life of Taj. We got 


up shortly after sunrise and while there was yet 
no sign of movement among the dark, discreet walls we 
wandered miles along the cliffs, trying to get the exact 
positions of the various oases and villages. The latter 
are almost invisible in some lights, as they are made of 
the sand and stones amidst which they stand. We 
found that the wadi narrowed to a strip to the north¬ 
east beyond Boema, while to the west it widened out 
into a wide expanse of hattab, high mounds covered 
with sticks and leafless bushes. To the south-west these 
hillocks rose from twelve to twenty feet and then 
beyond Tolab, which was too far away to be seen from 
our cliffs, the hattab gradually merged into the flat 


desert. 


One morning we explored the whole of the salt 
marsh, from whose hard, grey, stony matter the Tebus 
had built their houses. We found the remains of a 
whole village, though some of the houses were but broken 
circles on the ground. The main fort had one chamber 
sixteen feet in diameter and the highest bit of wall 
existing measured eleven feet, but round it was a 
crumbled mass of walls and smaller rooms, or separate 
buildings perhaps, as each was neatly finished off with 
perfectly rounded surface, like the damp clay pots one 
sees made on a rotary wheel. I think the Tebus must 


222 


THE FLIGHT FROM TAJ 


223 


have found the salt, hard sand especially good for their 
very enduring mortar, for their ruined villages are to 
be found only on marshes, as at Buseima, Buma and 
Jof. When we heard that there were Tebu remains in 
Taiserbo and actual Tebus in Ribiana, we instantly 
concluded that there were marshes in these two oases 
and the idea proved correct. 

When we returned from our matutinal walks we had 
enough appetite to cope with Sidi Saleh’s prodigious 
hospitality. Every morning on the stroke of nine a 
light tap came on my green and yellow door and there 
was Durur, with smiling ebony face, ready to lead us 
by sandy path and intricate court and passage to the 
wide, carpeted loggia, where waited our kindly host to 
wave us into the long, dark chamber redolent of roses 
and cinnamon. After we had gravely washed our 
hands in the Damascus basin, we crouched cross-legged 
beside the immense brass tray and there was a moment 
of thrilled expectation while another slave lifted the 
lids of a dozen dishes. Sometimes there was a small 
carved tray, inlaid with silver, on which stood half a 
score of bowls of sweetmeats, stiff blancmanges of all 
colours adorned with almonds, very sweet pastes some¬ 
thing like Yorkshire pudding, junket made of the milk 
of a newly lambing sheep, all sorts of date concoctions, 
couss-couss made with raisins and sugar, a white, sticky 
cream flavoured with mint. Always there were bowls 
of sweet hot milk and piles of thin, crisp, heavy bread 
fried with butter and eaten hot with sugar, called in 
Egypt “bread of the judge.” Arab custom ordains 
that a guest must be entertained for three days and 
three nights, but the generous kaimakaan would not 
hear of our getting anything for ourselves. The story 
of Jedabia was repeated over again. Once we protested 
about the mighty meals provided in the house of Sidi 


224 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


el Abed and the next day, as a reminder that the 
hospitality of the East is unbounded and must be 
accepted with the simplicity with which it is offered, 
the number of dishes was doubled and there were no 
fewer than twenty loaves ranged round the tray, while 
the centre plat was no longer a bowl, it was literally 
a bath of mellow, golden rice in which lay the buttery 
fragments of a whole sheep. Two hours each morning 
were spent in that quiet room going through the various 
ceremonies dependent on “breakfasting.” When the 
highly spiced and peppered coffee was finished, there 
were always the three glasses of green tea, hot and 
strong, with dignified slow conversation, punctuated by 
many pauses, while the brazier smoke made little 
hypnotic spirals, and through the open door a splash of 
sunlight crept over the castellated wall and lingered on 
the purple and rose of the carpets between the great 
arches of the loggia. 

About eleven o’clock, scented and very replete, we 
took ceremonious leave of our host and departed slowly, 
but the instant the doors of Sidi Idris’s house closed 
on the last “Aleikum salaam” of the departing slave, 
we dropped the ponderous and reflective gait suited to 
our exalted position and ran across the great court to 
shut ourselves up in the “harem,” the only really 
private bit of the house, with pencils and paper. How 
we regretted, as we struggled with angles and degrees, 
the perverse distrust with which the Zouias regard even 
a compass. We used to have the most frantic argu¬ 
ments about our primitive maps, but Hassanein was 
nearly always right as to direction and I as to distance, 
fruit of so many long journeys in the desert, where all 
landmarks appear three times as near as they really are. 
We worked solidly till four or five, though there were 
nearly always interruptions—Mohammed, to say that we 



ZAWIA TOWER AT TAJ 



KUFARA WADI, FROM TAJ 
































. 


















. 

i 






* 

' 


















































THE FLIGHT FROM TAJ 


225 


should have to buy a camel-man for twenty pounds and 
sell him again at Jaghabub, Yusuf, to say the girbas still 
leaked after all his cunning treatment, little Sidi Omar, 
resplendent in a wonderful yellow jubba, to hint about 
the scarcity of pocket-knives in Kufara, Sheikh Musa, 
from Hawari, to tell us that the men of his village were 
too over-awed to visit us in the house of the Sayeds, 
but were exceedingly regretful concerning their reception 
of us. 

So the hot hours wore away and about five we 
wandered out to see the amazing sunsets over the wadi, 
when for a few minutes the whole oasis was dyed in 
rainbow flames. Generally, before the crimson disk had 
sunk beyond the western sands, Surur was anxiously 
scanning the landscape to announce the dinner hour. 
We had long ago lost count of European time. We 
used vaguely to calculate that the sun rose at 6 a.m. and 
set at 6 p.m., but for all practical purposes we followed 
the Arab day, which begins an hour after sunset. We 
set our watches each evening to solar time and found 
ourselves counting the changing months by the lunar 
year of Islam. I never knew what day of the week 
it was till Friday came, when, if we were in a town, 
we joined the stream of worshippers, clad in their best 
clothes, who wended their way to the mosque. In the 
desert the most learned would recite the Koran and 
read a simple form of prayer. While the muezzin was 
crying the melodious call to prayer, “La Illaha ilT- 
Allah! Haya alia Salah! Haya alia Fallah!” from 
the round tower at the end of the zawia wall, we passed 
between the shuttered houses, gravely greeting the few 
white shrouded forms who crossed our path. As the 
last appealing yet triumphant “Allahu Akhbart” rang 
out to the evening star we entered the first low door, 
and the oppressive secrecy of the house shut us in. 


226 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 

How many cloistered lives were hidden behind the little 
wooden shutters that never opened for dark-fringed eyes 
to peer shyly at the passing strangers! Sometimes little 
Sidi Omar ran out to kiss my hand and say, “On my 
head and my eyes, I love you!” Sometimes we saw 
a long row of red leather slippers before one of the 
smaller porches and caught a glimpse of white figures 
bent over a huge platter from which, with the right 
thumb and two fingers—it is very bad form to dirty 
more of the hand than this—they ate rapidly. Other¬ 
wise the house kept its secrets well and we never knew 
who lived in it or how! 

After the evening meal the atmosphere mellowed 
with the candle-light and mint tea. Our host talked 
to us of the Sayeds he served, of their great history 
and their great influence. We learned that Sidi Ahmed 
es Sherif was respected and revered as the supporter of 
the old regime. He stood for the stern, unbending 
laws of the first Senussi. His judgments were ruthlessly 
severe and rapidly executed, as in the case of the 
unfortunate Mukhtar. The malefactor saw only a stately 
white figure, completely veiled, and from behind the 
snowy cloth came the immutable words of judgment. 
Sayed Ahmed broke men. He never bent them. Yet 
the older ekhwan, serious and simple, venerated him 
because to them he represents the power of tradition, 
the inviolate Islam, fanatically opposed to European 
progress. On the other hand, Sidi Idris is loved. As 
the son of the Mahdi, the Senussi saint, the wonder of 
whose works and words is rapidly becoming legendary, 
he inherits a great power. The Beduin likes to worship 
something tangible under Allah. He must feel con¬ 
vinced that there is one being on earth who blends 
spiritual and temporal power so that he can himself 
dwell in a sort of mystic security. “Inshallah, and if 


THE FLIGHT FROM TAJ 


227 


our lord Idris wills it I” is an oft-repeated phrase. The 
Emir has a reputation for justice and patience. The 
former is as stringent and as merciless as that of his 
predecessor, but it is tempered with the infinite patience 
always taken to ensure the whole of the case being 
examined before judgment is given. This is essential in 
a land where the justice of the Koran is the only code. 
“An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.” Drunken¬ 
ness is punished by flogging. The thief loses his right 
hand. Treachery means death. Sidi Idris is too good 
a Moslem and too great a mystic not to have secured 
the whole-hearted devotion of his father’s followers, 
while his broad-minded and intelligent foreign policy has 
secured him the respect of the modem element. The 
accord at Regima was one of his greatest triumphs. It 
showed his power in Cyrenaica. The tribal sheikhs of 
the coast, almost without exception, announced, “The 
word of Idris is ours!” 

The closing scene of our day will always be con¬ 
nected in my mind with the chanting of the Koran in 
„the zawia and the most brilliant clear starlight, as we 
returned to our house in silence, only broken by the soft 
shuffling of our heel-less slippers in the sand. While 
the cold white light warred with our candles and the 
melodious words of “The Book” were still humming 
in our ears, visitors would gradually make their appear¬ 
ance: the judge, Osman Quadi, Mahmud el-Jeddawi, the 
wakil, a few of the more advanced ekhwan, among whom 
was Mohammed Tawati, “close friend of the Mahdi.” 
The last-named is partially paralysed, and the Senussi 
mind, always alert for signs and miracles, explains that, 
in defiance of the direct orders of Sidi el Riffi, the 
unfortunate man started to journey north. Before he 
reached Hawaii his camel died and he himself was 
stricken with paralysis. 


228 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


In those dim evenings, while I made scented tea, the 
talk was a little less formal. We learned how much 
the Mahdi had done for Kufara, for besides giving it 
flowers, fruit and vegetables, he introduced pigeons and 
duck and the cultivation of grain. He built the fortress 
sanctuary of Taj, where the wells are ninety feet deep, 
so that water is always scarce and a girba full is a gift, 
since two hefty slaves have to wind up the heavy buckets 
foot by foot. The site is well chosen, but the town 
depends for its life on an army of slaves, for every 
vegetable or flower, every date and piece of firewood, 
must be carried up from the wadi below. The fuel is 
dry hattab and huge palm leaves. There is also charcoal 
made in the valley. The Mahdi instituted the regular 
caravan route to Wadai and encouraged a very exten¬ 
sive trade between the Sudan and Cyrenaica. He 
“miraculously” discovered wells on the southern route 
and old Sheikh Suleiman Bu Matar told how his father 
had been with the saint when water failed the caravan 
at Sarra, on the way to Wadai. The Senussi leader 
pointed to a spot which appeared to be solid rock and 
bade the men dig. Hour after hour they laboured till 
the well had sunk beyond the sight of the watchers up 
above. Only their faith in the Mahdi could have made 
possible so gigantic a task, for the water did not appear 
till the almost inconceivable depth of 120 “kamas” (the 
length of a man’s forearm and hand from elbow to 
first knuckles). “Only a man with amazing eyesight 
can see the water and the rope is unending,” said 
Sheikh Suleiman. 

We learned a list of the prices in Kufara from a 
ponderous merchant whose striped brown and yellow 
jerd reminded one of Biblical pictures. He jin (trotting 
camels), all of which belonged to the Tebus, cost seven¬ 
teen to eighteen pounds in gold. Sheep were five 


THE FLIGHT FROM TAJ 


229 


mejidies, goats four and a half, fowls half a mejidie, 
and pigeons four and a half qurush. Eggs were very 
cheap—a hundred for a mejidie (two a penny), but 
sugar was two mejidies an oke (eight shillings for two 
pounds) and tea three mejidies an oke. Butter fetched 
two mejidies for three rotls (one pound). Practically 
no other produce is sold. The owners of the gardens 
keep their vegetables for themselves. Mahmud el- 
Jeddawi volunteered much information about dates. 
“This year the grazing is good in Barca, so you may 
buy several camel-loads for a mejidie, but when there 
is no grass in the north the Zouias come here with large 
caravans and buy all our dates, so that for a mejidie 
you can purchase but a few rotls!” 1 He added that 
many tons of the Sayeds’ dates were even now rotting, 
as there were no camels to take them away. 

“I have noticed that there are very few camels in 
Kufara,” I said. “There are very few men also,” he 
replied. “The Zouias have all taken their camels to 
Barca this year to feed them on the good grass. They 
do this every winter when the nagas are foaling, as 
there is no fodder here. They leave their families in 
Kufara and come back to them in the summer.” 

I used to get very sleepy before the last visitor 
departed, having generally urgently urged us not to do 
the Jaghabub route. They are the most depressing of 
Job’s comforters with regard to journeys, for they 
always remember terrible stories of death from thirst 
or loss of direction, which they relate with infinite 
detail. Thus we learned that the Gebel Fadil, on the 
east of the Zieghen route, was so called because some 
twenty years ago one Jebail Fadil had missed the well 


1 The usual exchange for paper money is six mejidies for one pound, but for 
gold one receives seven. No paper money of any country is valid beyond 
Jedabia. Ten qurush make one mejidie. 


230 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


at Zieghen on his way from Jalo and had perished in 
the mountains with all his family. Concerning the 
Jaghabub route, the most encouraging sentence was 
generally, “If you miss it, you go either to Siwa or to 
hell!” uttered in a tone that left no doubt as to which 
was the more probable! 

We had secured the only guide in the place, 
Suleiman, and we had ascertained that he really had 
done the journey four years before and that previous 
to that he had done it with Yusuf. He was a little, 
quiet old man, bent and grey, of few words. When 
we asked him the length of the journey, he said, 
“Wallahi! I cannot tell. My walk is twelve days 
from Zakar, but I do not know your walk.” We 
assured him with the utmost fervour that our walk 
would most certainly be twin brother to his own, but 
personally I thought the whole caravan would probably 
sit down and die of complete inanition. Hassanein and 
I had never yet managed to walk a whole twelve hours 
on end. Mohammed had nearly died in the attempt. 
Yusuf had grown fat and soft again on the rich fare of 
Taj, while Suleiman looked much too ancient and frail 
for such a stupendous march. Our weakness was 
equalled only by that of the animals, for the best had 
all foaled and only the young, unreliable nagas, three 
years old, and a couple of ancient camels were left, 
beside the caricature and various halt and lame, who 
looked as if they were dancing all the time, because they 
had cut feet! However, we had become completely 
fatalistic. We proposed to take vast stores of water and 
put the rest of our trust in Allah. 

We also proposed to leave Kufara as soon as possible. 
Firstly, because our hosts were so prodigious in their 
hospitality that we could not bear to take advantage of 
it longer than was absolutely necessary for our work. 


THE FLIGHT FROM TAJ 


231 


Secondly, because, though what may be called the party 
directly responsible to the Government were very kindly 
disposed towards the guests of their rulers, the ancient 
and old-fashioned ekhwan held aloof. They would not 
believe that any strangers could have been given per¬ 
mission to penetrate their guarded privacy. They were 
torn between their desire to do honour to the Sayeds 
and their horror of diverging a hair’s breadth from 
immemorial custom. Among the Zouias there were now 
two factions. Many had been infected by the stories 
of the Bazama family and Abdullah, but a small party 
had gradually formed in our favour under the leadership 
of Suleiman Bu Matar. 

There were always, however, currents and cross¬ 
currents under the surface which sometimes rippled into 
open suspicion. Also there had been many very per¬ 
sistent inquiries on the part of the most lawless elements 
as to the exact date of our departure and our proposed 
route. It was known that the soldiers would not be 
travelling with us, so we should be an easy prey if the 
tribesmen wanted to play their last card. We there¬ 
fore spread the rumour that we should remain at least 
a fortnight longer at Taj and privately began to make 
preparations for another flight, this time aided an! 
abetted by the kaimakaan, who planned to send our 
little caravan a day’s march ahead while we were still 
openly in Taj. Under the guidance of a trusted sheikh 
we could overtake it on fast-trotting camels. 

Meanwhile it was necessary that we should investigate 
the western end of the oasis. For this purpose Sheikh 
Suleiman offered himself as guide and host combined. 
“I will arrange everything,” he said quietly. “Do 
not trouble yourselves. You shall travel in comfort.” 
We rather wondered what represented his idea of 
comfort when he announced that we would start two 


232 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


hours before dawn, as it was a very long way. How¬ 
ever, we duly rose at 9 o’clock by night Arabic (3 a.m.), 
and shortly afterwards a muffled thudding on the door 
warned us that our escort had arrived. We hurried 
out, clutching all available blankets, for it was extremely 
cold. The moon had set, so at first I thought two 
immense towers had sprung up in the night outside the 
house. A second glance revealed them as very tall 
he jin. They were barraked with difficulty and I 
mounted the most uncomfortable saddle I have ever 
met. It must have had the advantage from the camel’s 
point of view of being exceedingly light, for it consisted 
merely of two bars about ten inches apart, across which 
was doubled a carpet, with an upright spoke in front 
and behind, but it had every possible disadvantage for 
the aching bones of the rider. Little did I guess that 
I was destined, with a few short pauses, to spend no 
less than seventeen hours upon that seat of torture. 
The commandant, Saleh Effendi, with his gold and 
green cloak thrown across his thickest jerd, and 
Hassanein mounted donkeys, which looked microscopic 
from my towering height. Two soldiers perched them¬ 
selves, one behind the other, on the second he jin, and 
down into the wadi we swung, picking our way slowly 
till we came to the massed palms, when the party settled 
down to ride. 

The silvery stone of the marsh was a frozen grey 
in the starlight and the houses of Jof but a blur on 
the low ridge. The leaf hedges were rustling fingers 
stretched out to bar our way, and the great beams of 
the “shadouks” (wells) ghostly gibbets in the shadow 
of the palms. 

Outside one of Jof’s blind walls we barraked, when, 
after prolonged knocking, a sleepy slave announced that 
Sheikh Suleiman was not yet ready. Arab life is very 


THE FLIGHT FROM TAJ 


233 


adaptable. Within a few minutes of receiving the news 
the saddle carpets had been spread in the shelter of the 
wall, a fire of palm leaves (sent out by our host) lighted, 
dates produced from the same hospitable source and 
we had all settled down for a prolonged wait under the 
still brilliant stars. I think I slept for a few moments, 
my head on a stone, for when I was roused by a soft 
“Salaam Aleikum!” the stars were less brilliant and 
a third slender-limbed he jin was outlined against the 
grey sky. We set forth briskly to the south, and soon 
the long block of Jof’s houses and the neatly fenced 
gardens of the Sayeds lay behind us. The donkeys kept 
up a sort of short amble, while the camels slipped into 
the tireless swinging stride, half swift walk, half trot, 
the most comfortable pace in the world. As the light 
grew clearer I saw that mine was a big Tebesti beast, 
palest grey, long-haired and stately, but not as finely 
bred as the other two. They were the fast Tuareg 
breed of piebald grey and white, with blue eyes, very 
thin, like greyhounds in their lean slenderness. They 
ought to be able to do the racing trot which covers 
10 kilometres an hour. 

Through the dawn we rode and till the sun grew hot, 
always west with a hint of south. The large sweep of 
Jof palms disappeared on our right. Zuruk was left on 
the other side. Then, as we came into the open space 
beyond, where the large mounds of hattab begin, we saw 
that we were leaving the enchanted wadi behind us. We 
skirted the long strip of palms which forms Tolelib. 
There is no proper village in the oasis, but, scattered 
through the green, one catches sight of a few houses of 
the slaves who tend the palms. As we went farther 
west the mounds grew to hillocks and the red sand was 
tufted here and there with high grass, while masses of 
grey bushes climbed over the miniature gherds. Four 


234 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


hours after sunrise, while yet Tolab was far ahead, 
Sheikh Suleiman called a halt. A cold north wind had 
arisen and was finding the old tender spot in my shoulder, 
so I was glad when he chose the largest sandhill for our 
picnic breakfast. Bright scarlet rugs were spread on 
the lee side for the men and a faded rose-red carpet in 
the shelter of a smaller mound for me, as a woman could 
not eat with the soldiers. I fancy it would have hurt 
the Zouia’s susceptibilities if he had been obliged to 
encounter feminine fingers in the common bowl. 

After that meal we had an idea of what the Beduin 
means by travelling comfortably. A complete portable 
kitchen must have been hidden in the capacious brightly 
striped khoorgs that hung on either side of the blue¬ 
eyed camel. The most delicious odours were soon wafted 
from a pot stewing on a brushwood fire. A soldier 
brought me a long-necked brass ewer and a towel before 
my breakfast was shyly handed me by an ancieftt and 
dignified servitor of the sheikh, by name Mohammed, 
who had run beside his chief the whole way from Jof 
without protest, though he carried a heavy rifle. I had 
been given a brass tray of dates to eat and I was con¬ 
templating writing a monograph on the various uses of 
the date in Kufara. It is used for all sweetening purposes 
in cooking. Mixed with some other local ingredient it 
makes a sticky sort of glue. A soft date, slightly 
squashed, takes the place of a cork and every tin of oil 
is sealed that way. The stones apparently make studs 
for the nostrils of Tebu girls. I feel sure there are other 
uses, but the appearance of food prevented my thinking 
of them that morning among the bristling mounds of 
hattab. 

I lifted a plaited cover of palm leaves embroidered in 
red and there were nearly a dozen hard-boiled eggs 
surrounding a mound of crisp, flat bread. Another 


THE FLIGHT FROM TAJ 


235 


layer of palm leaf disclosed enough cold lamb, cooked in 
red pepper and onions, to feed all the party liberally, 
while the whole was balanced upon a bowl of delicious 
thick soup full of vermicelli, carrots and other unknown 
vegetables. All was hot with scarlet strips of fil-fil. 
Greed and fear struggled in my mind, but the former 
won and all the cold north wind could not cool my 
fevered tongue after I had partaken of that highly 
spiced dish. 

When a row of little tin tea-pots were heating on 
separate piles of ashes, I joined the party under the 
larger mound and we drank hot sweet tea, which tasted 
strongly of the inside of the girba which had been hidden 
underneath the saddle-bags. Afterwards there was half 
an hour’s amiable silence, punctuated by rare remarks 
chiefly concerning the flora and fauna of the wadi, this 
being the least suspicious subject of conversation we 
could think of and Mohammed being visibly eager to 
distrust. It could not be lengthened out interminably 
because there are no wild animals in Kufara and I never 
saw a bird, though I was told that several species, chief 
among them the wagtail-like “abu fasada,” make their 
appearance in March at the harvest time—the grain is 
a winter crop. Of insects there is a large variety, chiefly 
distinguished by their voracious appetites! Cleopatra’s 
asp, a small, fawn-coloured snake, lurks among the sand 
and in the oasis there are several kinds of serpents, large 
and small, most of them poisonous. We were assured 
that one large dark snake measures at least 6 feet and is 
particularly feared by the natives. Perhaps this is the 
legendary beast of Hawaish! 

After our excellent meal Tolab appeared much nearer 
and the wind much less strong. We rode on for another 
couple of hours and verified our suspicions that the wadi 
had no definite end; we had a bitter argument as to 


236 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


degrees, for we had not dared to bring even a compass, 
which for once was later decided in my favour by the 
setting sun. Then we turned to the scattered gardens 
of Tolab, where I saw roses, verbena and tiny lemon 
trees, all neatly tied up in fibre matting after the fashion 
of English gardeners. There is absolutely nothing to 
see in this last oasis of Kufara, whose sand-brick houses 
are scattered round the cultivated plots without regular 
order. We noticed a number of shadouks worked by 
small, grey donkeys and were hurried away by our host 
to get a glimpse of the far-distant Gebel Neri, as he had 
become quite interested in our exploration. These moun¬ 
tains are wonderful landmarks for at least two days south 
and north, but when we passed them on the way from 
Buseima we had no means of judging their height. We 
thought they might rise 150 to 200 metres above the 
surrounding country, which would make them 750 to 
800 above sea level, but this was only a guess. 

Two and a half days’ journey north-west of Tolab 
lies Ribiana, behind a gara twice as big as that of 
Buseima. We were told that the population consists of 
about a hundred Zouias and Tebus. There is an old 
zawia founded by the four original ekhwan sent by Sidi 
Ben Ali. The sheikh is Abu Bakr. There is a salt 
marsh between the mountain and the strip of palms some 
18 kilometres long, at the southern end of which is the 
zawia, while at the northern end is a village of about 
ten houses. This information we gathered from Sheikh 
Suleiman as we rode round the western end of Tolab 
and turned homewards through the waste of low hattab 
towards Tolelib. Thereafter the hours seemed inter¬ 
minable. Nothing ever got any nearer, while the saddle 
bars felt like knife blades. The only break was when we 
dismounted for the Asr prayers. Eventually we entered 
the northern edge of Tolelib’s palms and were only too 


THE FLIGHT FROM TAJ 


237 


thankful when, just before sunset, the tireless Zouia 
called a halt beside an immense sandbank and the 
morning meal was repeated. 

“We will take a glass of tea to refresh us,” said 
our host modestly, but very soon another savoury mess 
was being stewed in the capacious pot, while Saleh 
Effendi produced fresh mint leaves which had been given 
him at Tolab. This time everyone ate swiftly, plunging 
great chunks of bread into the basin of stewed vegetables 
and meat, but once again I was provided with a separate 
meal tastefully arranged on wicker plates. In half an 
hour we were in the saddle again, but the animals were 
tired and the sunset blazed behind us before we drew 
near the dark shadow of Zuruk. A three-quarter moon 
mingled her silver light with the red of the flaming west 
and the amber sands reflected the most extraordinary 
colours, which changed in the unreal light like the trans¬ 
formation scene in the pantomime. The pace was just 
too quick to walk in the soft, deep sand, so I had to cling 
to my painful saddle for another three hours. In star¬ 
light we had left Jof. In starlight we returned to it, 
steering by a glazing fire set to guide us to the gardens 
of Sayed Rida, from where Mahmud el-Jeddawi had 
asked us to bring some sacks of dates, probably for our 
own journey. The scene of the early morning was re¬ 
peated, for the Sayed’s black slaves, fantastic figures in 
tattered sacking or shreds of cotton, brought bundles of 
palm leaves for a fire and poured a great pile of hard 
golden dates on to a huge woven platter. We crunched 
these as we rested our aching bones on hastily spread 
carpets, while more and more ebony figures joined the 
group and just the heads of the camels solemnly chewing 
the cud came into the circle of wavering firelight under 
the stars. 

The last hour’s ride was very slow, for the he jin were 


238 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


unaccustomed to carrying loads, but it was done to the 
accompaniment of marriage music from the town and 
wild “ulla-la-een” of women, mixed with firing of guns 
and beating of drums. “He is taking a very little girl. 
She is only thirteen,” said Saleh Effendi of the bride¬ 
groom. I thought of the woman-child in her stiff, heavy 
draperies, clinging shyly and desperately to the veil 
which she would so soon have to raise for an unknown 
man, the stranger to whom her parents had given her! 

Yusuf and Mohammed were waiting for us at the 
top of the cliff—two unrecognisable figures entirely 
muffied in immense woollen jerds. With the usual Arab 
cheerfulness they had come to the conclusion that we 
had already been murdered by the Zouias! 

The attitude of the two men had been very charac¬ 
teristic during our stay at Taj. Both knew by this time 
that the object of the expedition was to write a book 
about the country. Both believed it must be for the 
good of the Senussi since we travelled under the Sayeds’ 
protection, but after this they differed. Yusuf felt that 
he had accomplished his duty when we arrived safely in 
Kufara. He was delighted that we were well received 
and hospitably entertained by the Government, for he 
thought that we should be impressed by the generosity 
of the Sayeds. Mohammed felt instinctively that we did 
not need impressing and all he wanted was that the work 
of Sidi Idris should be successfully achieved. Both were 
conscious of the undercurrent of unrest. Yusuf, treating 
us as strangers and himself as one of the people of Ku¬ 
fara, explained to us with perfect justice that the position 
was largely due to our own mistakes. Often we had 
trusted the wrong people. Often I, alas, had forgotten 
the nice shades of Moslem feminine behaviour in my thirst 
for knowledge. Mohammed swept aside all these points. 
He counted that Sidi Idris and he and we were all pitted 


THE FLIGHT FROM TAJ 


289 


for the moment against those who hampered, con¬ 
sciously or unconsciously, the work of the Sayed. There¬ 
fore he used to encourage us in friendly fashion, gather 
news for us, explain exactly how we should treat such 
and such a rumour and urge us to persevere. Yusuf 
always laboured to vindicate the honour of the Sayeds. 
Mohammed, knowing that no vindication was necessary, 
laboured to accomplish through us the task he had been 
given so many weeks before in Jedabia. The one thought 
in terms of couss-couss and padded camel-saddles, the 
other in something he vaguely termed work, but which, 
of course, should logically have been the pencils and note¬ 
books he distrusted! 

The day after our long expedition to Tolab was 
El Gumma, so, luckily, breakfast—a mighty bowl of 
pigeons, eggs and carrots—was sent to our house and 
we stayed indoors till it was time for the noon prayers, 
announced by the muezzin and by a runner who knocked 
at the outer door of each house with his cry of in¬ 
vitation ever repeated. Hassanein clothed himself in 
the cleanest jerd and departed to the zawia with the 
devout Mohammed. I slipped into an outer room beyond 
the mosque, for there was no place in the latter for 
women, and watched the impressive scene, discreetly 
hidden behind a pillar. All the ekhwan were present in 
their most resplendent silk jubbas, with snowy veils 
above their many-coloured kufiyas. They made splashes 
of vivid red, orange and green among the coarse white 
jerds of the Beduins. After the last “Azzan,” with 
sound of fife and drum, escorted by a guard of soldier 
slaves in their gala attire, khaki with sundry embroideries, 
the kaimakaan arrived in state with Sidi Mohi ed Din 
and Sidi Ibrahim the sons of Sayed Ahmed Sherif and 
Sidi Senussi, son of Sidi el Abed. His usual grave 
dignity was accentuated as he mounted the “mimbar,” a 


240 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


massive figure in striped rose and purple silk, with em¬ 
broidered blue jacket underneath a gorgeous, many- 
tasselled kufiya, stiff with gold thread, over his spotless 
white turban, from which depended the finest silk and 
wool veil. In delivering the usual Friday speech he 
asked the prayers and benediction of Allah for the four 
earliest Caliphs, Abu Bekr, Omar, Othman and Ali, and 
for twelve other sainted followers and friends of the 
Prophet. After the prayer a solemn procession, headed 
by the sons of the Senussi Sayeds, passed in ponderous 
silence save for the rustling of bare feet on palm mats 
to the dim inner chamber to salute the qubba of the 
Mahdi. 

If it be possible for Taj to be more dignified and 
impressive than usual, it achieves that effect on El 
Gumma, for all day one catches glimpses between the 
dark walls of the richly garbed ekhwan moving slowly, 
silk jerds carefully raised above the sand. After the Asr 
prayers the deputation of four who had received us, the 
Judge, Sidi Saleh, Sidi Ahmed es Senussi and Sidi Omar, 
came to bid us the city’s formal farewell, though we 
were not expected really to leave for several days. The 
visit was meant tactfully to imply that we were now free 
of official receptions and banquets, though Arab hos¬ 
pitality could only be satisfied by privately sending large 
meals to our house while we remained in Taj. We lured 
the judge and the portly dignitaries into our sunlit court, 
but they were terrified at being photographed. We had 
to treat them like children at the dentist’s and keep up a 
flow of laughing conversation about the painlessness of 
the operation, while they huddled pathetically together 
for comfort and support! 

Later in the day we were visited by Hasan and 
Husein Bazama from Ribiana. Relations of the men who 
had spread so many false reports about us, they doubtless 



nAKRAKIKO: A TOO SUDDEN DESCENT 



A LUNCH IN KUFAIIA VALLEY 




. 















I mu 






















































THE FLIGHT FROM TAJ 


241 


came to Taj in the first place to discover how much of 
their kinsmen’s tale was true. Finding us the guests of 
Sidi Idris, they decided the larger part must be incorrect. 
Hasan was dark and lean and altogether too reminiscent 
of Abdullah to please me, but his brother was a nice little 
plump person, kindly disposed towards the world in 
general and most unusually truthful for a Beduin, for 
when his elder brother tried to sell us a camel he 
remarked, in a small, plaintive voice, “He is a very old 
camel.” 

By this time we had learned how to make Arab tea. 
It must have been a good brew that day, for the brothers 
verified all Sheikh Suleiman’s information about Ribiana 
and urgently invited us to visit it. We politely refused, 
having seen quite enough of these lonely strips of palms 
with a few deserted, dark red houses. They seemed 
slightly hurt, so we explained that our camels really 
could not be expected to do an extra week’s travelling 
before the long Jaghabub trip. As a matter of fact, we 
were very much troubled about out caravan. Five of 
the nagas had foaled and could not be taken away from 
their offspring. We had given the soldiers six camels for 
their homeward journey via Zieghen and Jalo and they 
complained bitterly about the inadequacy of the number. 
Moraj a had married the pale, dark-eyed woman who had 
travelled with us from Buseima and he wanted to take 
his wife back to Jedabia with him. Abdul Rahim very 
naturally refused, as already they had insufficient trans¬ 
port. The sergeant was furious and threatened to stay 
behind, but we were no longer interested in their troubles, 
having quite enough of our own. 

The girbas we bought in the suq were too new to be 
safe and we were desperately afraid of losing our water. 
Suleiman, the guide, suddenly announced that only the 
Asayed ever went to Jaghabub and that, as nobody had 


242 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


travelled that way for more than three years, the one well 
at Zakar would not only be filled up, but probably covered 
by a dune! As the water was very far away it might 
take three days to dig down to it. Worst of all, we had 
only seven camels. Four of these must carry water and 
two fodder. This left only one for food for six persons, 
their luggage and tents! 

We tried to hire Tebu camels at an exorbitant price, 
‘but found that nobody would let their beasts go north 
in mid-winter, for the camels have very thin coats in 
Kufara and generally die when they reach a colder cli¬ 
mate. I explained that there had been no difference in the 
temperature of Aujela and Taj, but was told that the 
Jaghabub route would be bitterly cold and the winds 
almost intolerable. With this pleasant thought in mind 
we suggested buying a couple of camels, but there was 
none to be sold except the ancient Bazama beast, already 
shivering. “He will die on the way,” said Yusuf, hating 
to make a bad bargain. “I don’t mind if he does, pro¬ 
viding he will last four or five days beyond the Zakar 
well. We shall have drunk his load by then and shall 
not need him any more,” I said. “Do you think he 
will break down before then?” Yusuf would not commit 
himself. “One could see it in his eye if he meant to 
die in two days,” was all he vouchsafed. 

Our friend Mahmud el-Jeddawi bestirred himself 
energetically on our account and, after searching most 
of Jof, he triumphantly produced the most amazing 
camel I have even seen. It looked as if a portion of it 
had been left out in the making. We all walked round 
it in mystified silence to discover what was missing. It 
had the self-satisfied expression of a short, plump, curry- 
loving Indian colonel and most certainly there was some¬ 
thing odd about its shape. I looked at Yusuf appealingly. 
“It is very woolly.” “Yes, it has much wool,” he 


THE FLIGHT FROM TAJ 


243 


said with polite despair. We decided not to purchase it 
and were rewarded at the last moment by the production 
by a Tebu of a really magnificent camel, half he jin and 
half beast of burden. Its price was very high, two 
hundred mejidies, but we did not even wait to bargain. 
It was too necessary to us. We hated letting it go out 
of our sight for a moment, but its master insisted that 
we could not have it till the following day and we were 
obliged to let the caravan start without it. 

This time the flight was well arranged, though it was 
precipitated by another of Abdullah’s darts. We learned 
that he had been spreading far and wide a story that the 
venerated Sidi Ahmed el Rifi, teacher and adviser of 
the Mahdi, had prophesied disaster to any stranger who 
travelled on the Jaghabub route. “It is a sacred road 
between our two holy places,” he had said. “It is for 
the Sayeds and their followers only. Nobody else may 
go safely by it!” Whether the saying had other origin 
than the twisted brain of Abdullah we did not know, 
but it might have a distressing effect on the easily roused 
fanaticism of the retinue. We therefore hurried the 
small caravan off early one morning with the nominal 
destination of Hawari, because there was a certain amount 
of grazing in the neighbourhood and it would be natural 
for the camels to rest there for a week or ten days before 
starting for Jaghabub. As a matter of fact they skirted 
the village and main oasis and camped in an isolated palm 
grove some miles farther on where their presence was 
little likely to be suspected. 

Next day we made obvious preparations for a tour 
in the wadi and then, just after sunset, while all the 
devout inhabitants of Taj were occupied with their 
prayers, we slipped out of our discreet little door, 
wandered carelessly round a projecting wall and found 
two camels ready saddled in charge of a plaintive Yusuf, 


244 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


who hated the idea of travelling in a strong north wind, 
bitterly cold. Muffled in coarse jerds, only our new 
primrose leather boots with crimson uppers laced with 
scarlet thongs apparent to the public gaze, we plodded 
out of the little town followed by Yusuf, Suleiman and 
a fortnight-old foal! The wind was so strong that we 
hardly cast a backward glance at the oasis which had 
shown us so much in so short a time. 

It was a complete chapter of life we left behind. 
We felt that we had studied its pages thoroughly, but 
we knew that we had not read all that lay between the 
lines! Through a glass darkly we had been allowed a 
glimpse of an unsuspected civilisation aloof from our 
own and utterly different. For a few days we had moved 
amidst the friendship and enmity of a rigidly isolated 
religious fraternity, feeling something of their remote 
fanaticism, much of their warm generosity, a little of 
the almost pathetic simplicity which underlay their plots 
and counterplots. Yet we were ever strangers in a 
strange land, welcome to their dignified hospitality, but 
never admitted for a minute to the inner workings 
of their minds. Some glimpses we caught behind 
the scenes. Some threads to unravel the unspoken 
mysteries were put into our hands later by a suddenly 
talkative Yusuf, but the secrets of Taj are still safe 
with us! 

Each one must unravel them for himself, for no 
traveller may tell when he has once crossed the threshold, 
not only of the great house on the cliff, but of the life 
of these people where each man’s brain is an island in 
itself whose secrets are as jealously guarded as the oasis 
is by nature. The desert had paid us her debt. We had 
conquered her waterless desolation and her perilous dunes. 
We had won the right to her secret and generously she 
showed it, yet we knew she grudged us our triumph. 


THE FLIGHT FROM TAJ 


245 


As the dark stone houses disappeared swiftly into the red 
sand and black rocks, so that, looking back after a few 
minutes one might believe one had dreamed of the wadi 
and its people, I wondered what price we should pay 
for our knowledge. 

Behind the first ledge of rocks a gnome-like figure, 
green-hooded and cloaked, rose suddenly beside a micro¬ 
scopic grey donkey, while another, unrecognisably dis¬ 
guised by a scarlet handkerchief which left but an eye 
visible, appeared with a most unwilling sheep. They 
were the commandant, Saleh Effendi, sent to accom¬ 
pany us to our first camp, and a soldier to slaughter 
the sheep in our honour. Subdued greetings were hardly 
finished when a portly, panting figure, white jerd blow¬ 
ing wildly over a dark blue jubba, turban and spectacles 
slightly awry, hurried over the rocks. It was Sayed 
Ahmed es Senussi come to give us a last blessing with 
many injunctions to the guide to look after us well. 
After the “Fatha” had been gravely repeated, he 
clutched Yusuf’s sleeve and murmured mysteriously, 
“Will you not halt your caravan round the next gherd, 
as I wish to send out to you food for your journey— 
meat, bread and rice!” In a still lower voice he 
explained that many of the friendly ekhwan had wished 
to feast us, but had been afraid of hurting the feelings 
of the kaimakaan, who looked upon us as his guests. 
Arab custom ordains that when a stranger comes to a 
town, any man who visits him afterwards sends food to 
him or feasts him in his house. Therefore, the ekhwan 
had been in some difficulty. Either they broke their 
laws of hospitality or they ran counter to the generous* 
wishes of the kaimakaan, or they failed in respect to 
the Sayed by not visiting the guests in his house! We 
remembered that the sons of Sayed Ahmed Sherif and 
Sayed el Abed, boys between fourteen and seventeen, 


246 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


had often waited to greet us as we left the house of 
Sidi Saleh. “We wanted to see if the Sitt Khadija 
wears the same clothes as our ladies,” one had said 
shyly, but they were frightened of being photographed, 
the idea being that if one possesses a picture of a person 
one possesses also his soul, or at least a certain hypnotic 
power over him. 

We were obliged regretfully to decline the delightful 
offer of Sidi Ahmed, as speed was necessary. There¬ 
fore, we hurried north as fast as our odd little procession 
—camels, donkey, sheep and foal—would go. The wind 
dropped after the first three hours and a feeble moon 
rose in a clear, translucent sky. It was a night of 
colour so marvellous that it was unreal. I knew the 
strange tricks moonlight could play in the desert, but 
only once before had I seen such startling effects 
and that was in Chu Chin Chowt White moon¬ 
light on white sand makes an iridescent silvery sea, 
cold, almost cruel in its pale intangibility. But this 
was a golden light on an amber-red world and, except 
that one could not see so far, it was as clear as the 
day. The palm trees were shades of sapphire, silvered 
at the edge, and their shadows hot, clear-cut purple. 
We rode through a world so wonderful that when 
we had skirted the dreaming village of Hawari and 
completely lost our way in the oasis beyond—the infalli¬ 
bility of guides is a very brittle myth in Libya—we 
hardly minded, but with jerds flung back we revelled 
in unutterable stillness and colour' onceivable. Even 
after we had turned two complete circles and, with 
a waning moon, unexpectedly discovered our camp 
discreetly hidden in a hollow between great clumps 
of palms and what looked like mimosa trees, we could 
not go into the tent, though it was one of the 
coldest nights we had had. We sat outside amidst 


THE FLIGHT FROM TAJ 


247 


the violet and amber and, in spite of dates and 
cinnamon bread, wondered how soon we should 
wake up! 

Our desire for a swift and secret departure from the 
palm grove near Hawari was frustrated by the non¬ 
arrival of our new camel till the afternoon of the follow¬ 
ing day. By this time, of course, most of the population 
of the neighbouring village of Awardel was in our camp. 
The Zouias were most friendly and terribly curious. 
Their shrewd, suspicious eyes and pale, mean faces 
encircled my tent all day, hoping to catch a glimpse 
to satisfy their curiosity, but, out of sheer perversity, I 
smothered my face in the barracan and then snapshotted 
them when they were not looking! 

Unfortunately, I had left behind something of a 
reputation as a doctor, nature presumably having taken 
my patients in hand after my departure, so all day 
long my tent was thronged; by women with the most 
mysterious maladies. The poorer ones crouched outside, 
their scarlet woollen barracans an effective contrast to 
their black tobhs, the most picturesque combination I 
had yet seen. The wives of important sheikhs were 
ushered into my tent and the flaps closed after them 
by jealous male relatives. If they were young they 
would not uncover their faces even to me, but, mute, 
huddled bundles of voluminous draperies, with at least 
three barracans of rich dark weaving one over the other, 
they sat on my camp bed while an ancient crony trans¬ 
lated their needs. They wanted me to feel skin diseases 
through layers of garments, prescribe for invisible eyes 
and generally guess at their ailments from the descrip¬ 
tions of their elderly relatives, who urged them at in¬ 
tervals, entirely without effect, not to be afraid. Their 
jewellery interested me, for they wore bracelets like 
gauntlets of thin beaten silver, reaching half-way from 


248 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


wrist to elbow, and odd flat rings, big and thin as a 
five-shilling piece. 

The day ended with a violent quarrel between 
Mohammed and Abdullah, who was to return with the 
soldiers to Jedabia, because the kaimakaan thought Sidi 
Idris would punish him more severely than he had power 
to do. The guide had told Mohammed he would beat 
his nose flat, apparently an appalling insult, for the 
uproar was prodigious and, in the middle of it, while 
everyone was shouting at the top of their voices, our 
trusted retainer wept like an infant! He was only 
comforted by permission to buy a slave-girl he coveted. 
“She has walked all the way from Darfur,” he said, 
“so she can walk to Jaghabub with us.” Rut we 
persuaded him to send her to Jalo later on. The caravan 
was already overloaded without the ebony maiden’s food 
and water, though we were horribly tempted to take 
her when we heard she was a good cook. As camel-men 
were scarce at the moment in Kufara and fetched very 
high prices, we had taken Mohammed’s follower, Amar, 
instead. He was a plucky and willing boy, a pupil from 
the Jaghabub zawia, but, alas, no cook! The way he 
ruined our treasured rice was little short of a tragedy. 

The evening of January 24 was spent in a pursuit 
that was becoming habitual, that of sorting our rapidly 
diminishing baggage to see what could be left behind. 
This time the tent and camp beds had to go. There 
would be no time to put up a tent on the Jaghabub 
route. With our small and somewhat feeble retinue, 
after walking twelve hours a day, probably against a 
strong wind, by the time the camels were attended to 
and the rice or flour cooked, one would have no energy 
left to struggle with tent pegs. The most one could 
hope for would be a flea-bag on the ground sheet in the 
inadequate shelter of a zariba made of our food and 



A TEBU AT AWARDEL IN KUFARA 


» 








THE FLIGHT FROM TAJ 


249 


fodder sacks. We now had one suit-case, a sack of 
provisions and two rolls of bedding. “We might put 
the ground sheets in the bedding,” I said casually, look¬ 
ing round the pathetically small pile of our belongings 
to see if we could possibly do without anything else. 
“Your flea-bag is the thinnest. We had better put 
it in between the flaps.” I thought there was a certain 
nervousness in Hassanein’s eyes as we undid the bulky 
roll, but I did not quite understand it, even when a 
bottle of amber eau-de-Cologne and an immense attache 
case fell out, scattering a complete manicure set in the 
sand. I was quite used to this sort of thing by now, 
but I was mildly surprised when a violent protest fol¬ 
lowed my efforts to insert the waterproof sheet. “Take 
care! Take care! You will hurt yourself!” “What on 
earth do you mean? Woollen flea-bags don’t bite!” The 
thought struck us both instantaneously that this was 
hardly correct at the moment and we were both laugh¬ 
ing when suddenly a pain that could hardly have been 
inflicted by even the largest Libyan bug shot through 
my hand. “What is that?” I gasped, and pulled 
out a very large, sharp saw! For one horrible moment 
I thought my companion had developed tendencies to 
homicidal mania as I stood open-mouthed with the tool 
in my hand. “I’ve hidden that damned thing in my 
bedding for three months and whenever I turned over 
it ran into my shoulder and I’ve cut myself on it three 
times!” he said viciously. “But why, why, why?” I 
could only stutter. “I thought it would be so useful,” 
was the reply. Visions of the treeless desert, with no tuft 
of moss or blade of grass, must have crossed both our 
minds simultaneously, for almost before I could ask 
feebly, “What did you mean to cut?” he said, “I don’t 
know. I just felt it would come in useful—to make things 
with,” he added hastily under my baleful eye. “But I 


250 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


didn’t want you to see it. I knew you would laugh.” 
“Laugh!” I exclaimed scornfully, sucking my finger¬ 
tips. “After all, you needn’t make such a fuss! It’s 
no worse than your bread!” and I remembered the days 
on the way to Taiserbo when I had insisted on treasuring 
a piece of ten-day-old bread in my knapsack with much 
the same sort of feeling that “it might come in useful.” 
My companion, unlawfully in search of matches—the 
only things we refused to share were matches and soap, 
though we never used the latter—cut his hand badly on 
the rough, sharp edge of my precious loaf and thereafter 
spoke of food as the most dangerous element in the 
desert! 


CHAPTER XIII 


THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS 

L OADING the camels on January 25 was some¬ 
thing of a difficulty. The whole male population 
of Hawari came out to help or to hinder, while 
various shrouded female forms lurked in the shadows of 
palm clumps hoping to exchange a few eggs for green 
tea, but we had left our last stores at Kufara, so could 
do no bartering. A young merchant from Wadai 
offered us crimson-dyed leather at three and a half 
mejidies for a whole goatskin. He would easily make 
his fortune among London boot shops! That morning 
was another revelation of Zouia character, for if we left 
anything out of sight for a minute it disappeared. I 
lost my pet woolly scarf which I used to roll round 
underneath my thin cotton garments, my only protec¬ 
tion against the north winds. Mohammed politely 
spread his rug for two venerable ekhwan to sit upon. 
A few moments later they and it vanished altogether. 
Yusuf’s bright-coloured blanket followed suit, with 
Hassanein’s sleeping-helmet. It is not to be wondered 
at, therefore, that our farewells were somewhat chilly. 
Amar was venomous because some thrifty housewife had 
appropriated the grid on which he made his almost 
uneatable bread. We shuddered to think what it would 
be like without it! 

By 8 a.m. we had received the last mixed blessings 
and warnings, the chorus of “Marhabas” and “Ma 
Salamas!” had died among the palms and an amazing 
251 


252 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 

sense of peace had descended on us. For the first time 
in three months we were a completely friendly party, 
united to achieve a common object by dint of hard work 
and endurance. It was a wonderful feeling! Everybody 
was happy and nobody shirked. Even the plump Yusuf 
forgot his plaintive whine, and with a fat smile gathered 
hattab and urged on the camels. Unfortunately, our 
great grey Tebu beast was suffering badly from his 
first heavy date meal, just as the rest of the caravan 
had done at Buttafal a month previously. At the last 
moment, however, Sidi Mohammed el-Jeddawi, seeing 
that the necessary dates for fodder took up three 
complete loads, lent us one of Sayed Rida’s foaling 
nagas. We ha'd no baggage saddle (“hawia”) for her, 
so we doubled across her back our thin, single fly-tent 
which we had meant to leave behind. At the last 
moment Yusuf, ever economical, stuck the three light 
poles in somewhere. 

We therefore started with a caravan of nine, but 
they were distinctly overloaded, for we had to carry 
water for six or seven days, since Suleiman, the guide, 
was uncertain as to how long it would take to dig out 
the Zakar well. That day we marched ten hours, with 
a hot sun and a cold north-north-west wind. We left 
the Hawari Gara a dark block to the west, with the 
great indigo cliffs of the Gebel Neri far beyond it. 
Gradually we drew away from the hot, red sands of 
Kufara with their patches of strange black stones. In 
the afternoon we emerged on to the pale, flattish country 
sweeping up to the foot of the Hawaish mountains. 
These, however, were still invisible when we camped at 
sunset, because the two smallest camels refused to go 
any farther. We missed the blacks while struggling to 
unload our unruly beasts, two of whom were three- 
year-olds and never could be barraked without a 


THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS 


253 


prolonged fight. We built our zaribas with their backs 
to the persistent north wind, but nature played us a 
trick, for the temperature descended unpleasantly. We 
sat comfortably inside our flea-bags, however, cooking 
rice and coffee and watched a fading moon slowly dim 
our solitary candle. 

Next morning Mohammed roused us long before the 
dawn and we were away by 7 a.m., but we were very 
under-staffed, for Amar and old Suleiman were both 
too feeble to lift the immense fodder loads and Has- 
sanein and I were exceedingly inefficient! Neverthe¬ 
less, complete cheerfulness still reigned. The Beduins 
invented and sang lustily doggerel rhymes of personal 
tendencies, such as, 

“If Sidi Yusuf won’t walk to-day, 

A new little wife won’t come his way.” 

We saw the Hawaish mountains, a long line of round 
peaks on the horizon, about 8 a.m., and at the same 
moment discovered that our new guide had deficient 
sight. He was a little, old, wizened Beduin, very poor 
but very shrewd for all his apparent simplicity. He 
was clad only in worn sandals, an ancient leather skull 
cap and a pathetically tattered grey jerd. He was quite 
illiterate and his rare speech was in a dialect which 
even Mohammed found some difficulty in following. 
He shuffled along all day, bent over his palm stick, 
untiring and unresponsive, though occasionally his 
cracked, hoarse voice joined in the lilting refrains of 
the retinue. Only when he failed to pick out a certain 
hill with a cleft top did he tell us that he had once 
rashly interfered in a private battle between two black 
soldiers and received a blow on the head which had 
permanently damaged his eyesight. After this admis¬ 
sion I think we all expected to lose the way, but one 


254 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


becomes terribly fatalistic in the desert. “Allah alone 
knows” is repeated with complete simplicity by every 
traveller in the great wilderness. 

By this time I could well understand the carelessness 
of the Beduins, their lack of forethought and their 
childlike trust in Providence. After all, what does it 
really matter on a twelve days’ waterless route whether 
one overloads one’s camel with a couple of extra girbas 
and a spare jarfa of fodder in order to ensure a day 
or two more of life? A few strong giblis may dry up 
all the water. It may go bad, or the skins may leak, 
or a load may be thrown on to sharp stones so that the 
girbas burst. On the other hand, the guide may lose his 
memory or his “instinct.” Hay after day without a 
landmark, with the ever-present knowledge that one 
slight mistake means destruction, is surely enough to 
trouble the most experienced. One day’s bad march, 
owing to a mere trifle such as irregularly balanced loads, 
sore backs or unaccustomed date feeding, will endanger 
the whole issue, for the Zakar—Jaghabub or the Zakar— 
Siwa routes are the longest known stretches without 
water. The Boema-Farafra route is twelve days with¬ 
out water. The camels arrive completely exhausted 
and if an extra day be added to the march they prob¬ 
ably do not arrive at all. The men may get sore feet 
or fever, but they cannot ride the heavily burdened 
beasts. The terrible north wind may blow day and 
night, making every step laborious, yet the daily average 
has got to be kept up. Therefore, the Beduins smile 
when one makes pitiful little attempts to arm oneself 
against nature, to forestall or prevent her rigours. “If 
Allah wills, we shall arrive,” they say gravely and turn 
the conversation to lighter matter. 

Fired by the example of Mohammed and Moraj a, 
Yusuf began to wonder whether a wife or two would 


THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS 255 

not satisfy his affectionate heart more than a camel. 

A woman is so much cheaper,” he sighed, and told 
us that among the ekhwan no dowry is paid to the 
bride s father. A small gift of silk or gold is given to 
the mother and sisters, perhaps a necklace or bracelet 
to the girl herself and there the expense ends. “Twenty- 
five mejidies are enough,” said Yusuf; “but if one 
wants to take the daughter of a Beduin sheikh one 
must pay many camels.” “How many?” I asked. “Oh, 
ten, twenty, fifty and one must give the girl silk and 
cloth for her clothes besides!” He dropped into medi¬ 
tative silence. 

One by one we saw the landmarks of the Zieghen 
track to the west and learned that the north-westerly 
course we were following had been the original Zieghen 
route till one Mohammed Sherif established the present 
more direct way. First we saw the Gardia, a square 
block of dark cliff, then the Garet es Sherif, called after 
a traveller who shortened by a day the Kufara-Jalo 
journey, and late in the afternoon a conical hill called 
The Ivheima (tent) by Mojabras and The Mohgen 
(funnel) by Zouias. One great advantage we had over 
our previous journey. This time the sun was behind 
us all the time. The difference was enormous. Riding 
or walking for twelve hours day after day straight into 
a blazing sun, without hat brim or umbrella, had been 
very trying to one’s eyes and head. Altogether the 
absence of glare, the feeling that the larger part of our 
work was done, with no necessity to placate a constantly 
irritated retinue or to weld together the most in¬ 
harmonious human elements, caused us to regard the 
dreary kilometres that lay before us as the most peaceful 
part of our journey. 

“I want to see the white sands again,” I said and 
urged my little expedition on into the rose-purple hills. 


256 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


The Hawaish are not really mountains. They are an 
irregular mass of round, rocky hills, cliffs and cones 
and their direction would baffle even an experienced 
geographer. We spent any spare moments at dawn and 
at sunset sitting on the top of some abrupt hillock 
with binoculars, compass and a note-book, studying the 
complicated positions of the local mountains, but hair 
grew grey and tempers short in the task. Always there 
was a new wall of hills in the distance generally running 
at an unexpected angle and when we asked the retinue 
for explanations, all they could say was, “Allah alone 
knows!” 

I wanted to camp within the first line of the 
Hawaish, for by now I was just as anxious to leave the 
mysterious, enchanted land as I had been to enter it. 
The circling horizon of strange hills seemed to shut us 
in with the hot coloured sands, but the cool white dunes 
beyond called us back to the open deserts of the north. 

Just as Suleiman wavered as to whether we should 
turn right or left of a large cliff, sudden news brought 
by Yusuf and Amar, who had climbed a gherd we had 
just left, abruptly shattered our peace. Our fat retainer 
was actually running, a swift uneven little trot, which 
made him pant as he shouted, “There is a caravan 
behind us!” The idea was startling to say the least, 
for no one had travelled by this route for nearly four 
years and we knew that nobody was prepared to start 
when we left Kufara. At first we told Yusuf that he 
had dreamed his caravan. We were two days’ march 
from Hawari, from where all travellers start, and when 
we left the oasis there had been no question of any¬ 
body else going north by any route. Amar, however, 
was equally positive. “We looked through the glasses,” 
he said. “There are four or six camels and nearly a 
dozen men with them. They are travelling fast, about 



OUR CAMP AT AWARDEE 



LOADIN'G AT AWARDEL 




i. 

* 


« 


THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS 


257 


three hours behind us!” This was so definite that we 
had to believe it and Mohammed dotted the i’s. “We 
shall be attacked to-night. It is a habit of the Zouias. 
They wait till a caravan is outside their country so that 
they cannot be blamed and then they eat it up!” 
“It is not the Zouias!” indignantly refuted the guide. 
“They have great respect for the Sayeds. It is the 
Tebus. They have swift camels. They attack in the 
mountains, where no travellers ever go and then they 
fly south to the French country before anything is 
discovered.” 

Intense gloom descended on the little party. Sunset 
light was fading and the one break in the purple stones 
ahead was a patch of vivid sand dotted with five camel 
skeletons. We had only three rifles and our revolvers! 

Discretion in this case was certainly the better part 
of valour, so we decided on ignominious flight. We 
left the neighbourhood of the wide pass leading to Zakar 
and, in darkness, felt our way west, through curling 
defiles and over steep ridges, always driving the camels 
across the stony patches to avoid leaving footprints in 
the sand. When Suleiman thought we had gone far 
enough from our course to baffle any pursuers, we 
barraked in a convenient hollow out of sight of anyone 
who was not standing on the hills immediately surround¬ 
ing us. “No fires,” said Mohammed sternly. “No 
light at all! And we will put the camels a little way 
in front of us. They will move if anyone comes.” 
“What shall we eat?” moaned Yusuf plaintively. 
“We must have a fire to cook,” I agreed, thinking I 
should be much braver after some hot coffee, for it 
was very cold that night, but Mohammed was 
adamantine. He hung his revolver round Suleiman’s 
neck, with strict injunctions to the guide to “Shoot 
straight and may Allah direct the bullet!” He then 


258 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


suggested making a fortified zariba on the hill-side. 
Yusuf and I, after furtive glances at the enormous 
loads, with the very long march fresh in our minds, 
thought it would be much better to perish comfortably 
in the hollow. “It will only prolong the fight if we 
defend the hill,” said I plaintively. “I want to go to 
sleep on that nice soft patch of sand.” But, unfor¬ 
tunately, Hassanein and Amar were also against me. 
Therefore, we were forced to drag the large fodder 
sacks laboriously up the first ridge of the hill and push 
them into a serried wall on a ledge. I have never been 
crosser in my whole life, but it was a beautiful little 
fort when it was finished. I felt that only a very 
energetic bullet would get through those immense date 
sacks and the position would certainly be impregnable 
so long as any of the defenders were alive. The girbas 
were arranged in front of us protected by stones, so, 
sure of food and water, we could even stand a siege. 
The camels were below us in the hollow. Yusuf and I 
again suggested a very tiny fire, but Mohammed refused 
and we contented ourselves with four-day-old bread and 
tinned corned beef. After that I silently unrolled my 
flea-bag preparatory to placing my revolvers, the aneroid 
and the thermometer beside my pillow. “I shall not go 
to bed,” said Hassanein sternly. “We must take turns 
to watch.” “The right is with you,” replied Moham¬ 
med with alacrity. “Is your rifle loaded, Amar, my 
son? We will all watch.” This, however, was too 
much. Yusuf and I merely ignored the remark, but, as 
I gave a last comforting wriggle to feel the thick, 
woolly end of my flea-bag with my toes, I heard 
Hassanein’s voice somewhere above me, alert and 
strained, “If anyone comes into sight shall I speak to 
them first or fire at once? What is your custom 
here?” Two simultaneous answers blended with my 


THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS 


259 


sleep. “Speak first!” came drowsily from Yusuf. 
“Shoot quickly and shoot straight!” from Mohammed, 
“or you will never speak again!” 

The only thing that disturbed my slumbers that night 
was a little yellow sand mouse. I woke up feeling some¬ 
thing fluffy on my cheek and the absurd little beast was 
sitting on my nose. He scuttled to the other side of 
the zariba when I moved and Amar, bloodthirsty after 
a long, useless vigil, promptly killed and ate him! No 
Tebu warriors broke our peace, but unfortunately the 
fear of them made Mohammed wake me while the golden 
moon was still high and brilliant. I would not move 
without breakfast, so we hurriedly cooked rice and 
sweet tea in the unreal light almost as clear as noon and 
laboriously pulled to pieces our beautiful zariba of the 
night before. We rolled the heavy date sacks down the. 
hill because the men were too tired after their hard 
twenty-four hours to carry them. One burst and scat¬ 
tered dates right and left. Thrift and fear mingled in 
the minds of the retinue, but caution for the long road 
"before us was uppermost in my mind! We picked them 
up in silence and dumped the load on to the protesting 
camels with almost personal dislike. Then we took to 
the trail again and, still in moonlight, began picking 
our devious way round the irregular hills. When Sulei¬ 
man finally led us back to the main pass we thought 
any pursuing caravan must be far ahead, for it was two 
hours after sunrise. 

By this time we were all inclined to think that the 
four or six camels and the dozen men existed only in 
the imagination of Yusuf and Amar, but we had hardly 
turned into the wide sweep of sand that led north to 
the open spaces beyond the first range of Hawaish when 
we came upon fresh camels’ tracks ahead of us. The 
plump one was delighted. “I was right! I was right!” 


260 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


he exclaimed, “and now we are safe, for, when they do 
not catch us, they will think we have been warned and 
gone to Zieghen to avoid them.” Perhaps his surmise 
was correct. We never knew. We found no more 
traces of the mysterious caravan. Its origin and destina¬ 
tion remained a secret. It had travelled two days and 
a half on the route to Zakar far beyond the point where, 
long ago, travellers turned west to Zieghen. Then it 
vanished as completely as a mirage, but mirage does not 
leave footprints and camel dung! 

In spite of the sleepless night the Beduins marched 
well that day. “If we reach those mountains to-night,” 
had said Suleiman at 11 a.m., when we saw the second 
range of Hawaish, blue and mauve, beyond a wide 
expanse of pale sand waves and low dunes, “we shall 
say our Asr prayers to-morrow at Zakar.” So we 
plodded on cheerfully. It was cool and cloudy, with 
the usual north wind and an incessant mirage that made 
pools and lakes in every hollow. The old camel I had 
ridden when we left Jedabia seemed to know the way. 
He made a bee-line for a certain cleft in the hills. Yusuf 
noticed this also and asked if I knew the story of the 
sand grouse and the camel. “They were arguing one 
day as to which was the cleverer,” said the plump one, 
smiling. “I lay my eggs at random in the trackless 
desert,” urged the sand grouse, “and then I fly far and 
wide in search of food, but I can always come straight 
back to hatch them.” The camel sniffed scornfully. 
“If I drink at a well as a tiny foal trotting beside my 
mother, though I never see it again, I can find my way 
back to it even when I am very old and blind!” “No, 
no, he is cleverer than that!” interrupted Mohammed. 
“If a naga has tasted the water of a well when she is 
in foal, the camel she gives birth to can return to it 
surely.” “Let us hope this particular camel has drunk 


THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS 261 

of the well at Jaghabub,” I suggested. “Insha-allahl” 
replied Yusuf devoutly. 

We found a delightfully sheltered spot between two 
hills that night, so did not trouble to build a zariba. 
The thermometer registered a frost, but I think it had 
been affected by the mental atmosphere of the previous 
night because we did not feel very cold. I remember I 
drank so much coffee that I could not sleep, so I did not 
mind when the Beduins insisted on making a fire three 
hours before dawn and cooking their “asida,” a sticky 
mass of damp flour flavoured with onions and zeit (oil). 
We must have been particularly inexpert with the loading 
for, in spite of this early breakfast, we started only just 
before sunrise. The new. grey camel lay down almost at 
once, for he had not recovered from his greed. We had to 
divide his girbas among the others, for water is needed 
to harden the sand when digging the Zakar well. We 
watched the caravan anxiously as, leaving the second 
mass of the Hawaish hills, it crossed a rolling expanse of 
great flat slabs of stone, broken and slippery. How¬ 
ever, it toiled slowly but safely across them and about 
10 a.m. we were moving in sparkling white sand, blind¬ 
ing, dazzlingly clean in the hot sun. There was prac¬ 
tically no wind for once, and Yusuf actually discarded 
his overcoat after he had climbed a mound to point out 
a square, solid, black gara among surrounding stony 
gherds. “Near that is the well,” he announced. “We 
shall be there in one hour or perhaps four.” As a 
matter of fact we saw the two tufts of palm scrub that 
mark the Zakar well at noon and they looked scarcely 
a stone’s throw away among sands white as snow, but 
we only reached them two hours later. 

The last caravan that passed must have suffered 
severely en route , for there were bits of broken baggage 
among scattered camel skeletons. Yusuf wished to 


262 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


ignore several legs complete with pads in building a 
zariba, but I hankered after ground less gruesomely 
reminiscent, so we compromised by turning our backs 
on the well and its immediate surroundings. “The 
animals always die at the end of this journey,” said 
Suleiman calmly, “unless they are very strong. Then 
they drink so much water that one must travel very' 
slowly, taking five days or even more to go from here 
to Hawari.” The well, when we arrived, was a big 
mound of sand, but the guide told us it was properly 
made with stone walls, so it was only a case of digging. 
It is necessary to arrive at this well with a reserve of 
water as, before beginning to dig, one must carefully 
soak the surrounding sand to make it hold the stones 
like mortar. Otherwise they all fall in on top of anyone 
digging and it is most dangerous work. 

Apparently the Zakar well was used in ancient days 
by Tebus, long before the Jaghabub-Kufara route was 
opened by the Mahdi. The latter never travelled over 
it himself, but he sent an exploring party to discover its 
possibilities and, later, his brother, Sayed Ahmed es 
Sherif, took a caravan across it. Since then it has been 
practically reserved for the use of the Senussi family, who 
make the journey with immense caravans with anything 
over fifty camels. They carry very large stores of fodder, 
casting several loads on the way if necessary. Sidi Idris 
and Sayed Rida have so far avoided the route, but Sayed 
Ahmed es Sherif used it several times. On one occasion' 
some of his water went bad going south and his horse 
died of thirst four days out. He had to leave most of 
his stores and luggage behind and return hastily to 
Jaghabub with as many camels as possible. Three years 
later his luggage was recovered just as he had left it, 
which shows how little frequented is the route. 

All afternoon the Beduins laboured at the well. It 


THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS 


263 


was very narrow, about two and a half feet across, so 
only old Suleiman, thin and wizened, could get down 
to dig. It must have been a most uncomfortable task, 
for the water lay at a depth of 15 feet, but before he 
slept that night he had felt damp sand beneath his 
fingers. Next morning, January 29, the work was com¬ 
pleted and our 14 girbas filled and ranged in two nice, 
fat rows ready for loading, but we could not start that 
day for a very bad sandstorm raged till 4 p.m. We could 
not light a fire or even go out to collect hattab for our 
journey. The camels moaned as they huddled in a 
miserable circle and we crouched under blankets and 
ate sand mixed with dates and stale bread. Hassanein 
devoted much labour to mending his primrose and scarlet 
boots with brass wire and was bitterly disappointed be¬ 
cause he could not cut the latter with his saw! 

In the evening the wind abated a little, but it was 
a gloomy sunset. The sun was a livid disk in a pale 
green sky seen through a drab blur of sand above grey 
desert. We sealed up our three precious fanatis with 
seccotine round the stoppers so that no one should be 
tempted to use them till the last possible moment. Then 
we re-covered the well with the old matting and skins we 
had found under the miniature dome which covered it. 
In four years the sand had filtered through them as if 
they were not there, but should any traveller be rash 
enough to follow shortly in our footsteps, our precaution 
might save him a repetition of old Suleiman’s task. 

On January 30 we began the long trek, leaving the 
well at 7 a.m. after a most careful adjustment of the 
loads. It was cold with a faint north wind which 
strengthened as we mounted the stony gherd north-east 
of the well. As we turned for a last look at the lonely 
clump of palms, a minute spot of green in a boundless 
stretch of undulating sand, a muffled voice came viciously 


264 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


from the many-coloured kufiya which Hassanein had 
wound over his nose and mouth. “The one comfort is 
that we shall either be in Jaghabub in twelve days or 
we shall be dead!” it said. “Are your boots very 
painful with all that brass stuck in them?” I asked 
sweetly! 

For an hour we drove the camels slowly over rough, 
stony ground with large loose slabs lying about. Then 
the hills gave place to the white sands and we looked 
down on to dunes like the turbulent breakers of a stormy 
sea. Yusuf glanced solemnly at the last dark stones 
behind us. “We are lucky to leave the red country 
without exchanging gunpowder,” he announced, “but 
the friends of the Sayeds are always blessed. You have 
been especially protected by Allah, for the Zouias are 
a bad people.” It was rare that the plump one was 
really serious except when his food or sleep were 
threatened, so we guessed that he knew more than he 
would even tell us. The rising north wind, however, 
prevented much conversation and before we had reached 
the first line of dunes it had developed into something 
resembling the sandstorm of the previous day. It was 
bitterly cold. If one rode, the wind pierced through 
every blanket that could be wound round one and one was 
nearly blown off the camel. If we walked with a jerd 
muffled over our heads, the sand poured through the 
woollen stuff into eyes, mouth and nose and we literally 
staggered as we mounted each succeeding ridge and met 
the full force of the gale at the top. I used to struggle 
on for a mile or two and then half bury myself under 
the lee of a gherd till the stumbling, half-blinded caravan 
caught up. 

A weary day was passed in repeating this process, 
until everyone looked upon the unfaltering guide as his 
personal enemy who would never stop his slow, inter- 


THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS 


265 


minable crawl over dune and hollow, which always kept 
him just out of reach of our protests. Every time he 
paused to look for the best place to cross a ridge we hoped 
to hear the barraking cry, but always he shuffled on in 
broken sandals, monotonously, untiringly. The wind 
dropped at sunset, but we marched through the sickly, 
grey light, with a faint lemon glow in the west and only 
when the full twelve hours were completed did Suleiman 
allow us to crawl into our flea-bags, half-frozen, half- 
starved; for everyone was too tired to cook. 

I believe I took off my boots, but certainly nothing 
else, for I remember how bulky my red hezaam felt in 
the narrow space; but I slept for nine blissful hours and 
ate far more than my share of sardines and dates in the 
morning. The rice was a strange, blackish grey colour,, 
due to the girba water. The colour and smell of this 
water after a few days are a great preventive of thirst. 
We had gone back to the old ration of three cups of 
water per day, with a. fourth for cooking. We soon 
found that hot coffee made us too thirsty, but that cold, 
strong, sugarless tea produced rather the opposite effect. 
A much worse discovery greeted us that exceedingly cold 
morning of January 31. Three of the girbas had either 
dried in the sand-filled wind or leaked away. There was 
scarcely the morning ration left in them. We spoke to 
the retinue seriously when we found them drinking 
copiously, but were baffled by their fatalism. We still 
had a girba a day and two fanatis to spare, so they refused 
to consider the infinite possibilities of delay, illness, loss, 
leakage, or a camel needing water by the way. “What 
is written is written,” said Yusuf. “You cannot run 
away from fate. That is what the eagle said to Sulei¬ 
man.” “What eagle?” I demanded suspiciously. 

“The prophet Suleiman was sitting on a hill, from 
which he could see many cities, when an eagle came to 


266 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 

him and said, ‘You think you are wise because you know 
the wisdom of all these people, but I will take you all 
over the world and show you the wisdom of countries 
you have never heard of.’ With that he took the 
prophet’s girdle in his beak and flew north, south, east 
and west with him, showing him many marvels. When 
they had travelled far and wide the bird flew back to the 
prophet’s own country and dropped his pupil in a field 
where a ploughman was setting snares. Before Suleiman 
could express his thanks he saw that the great bird was 
caught in one of the traps and was battering helplessly 
against the bars. ‘Oh, thou who would’st teach me 
wisdom, where is thine own that thou who knowest all 
the world could not avoid one small trap?’ ‘What is 
written is written,’ said the eagle resignedly. ‘One 
cannot run away from one’s fate.’ ” Yusuf looked at 
me expectantly. “The eagle might have looked where 
he was going,” I said firmly, “and you will most cer¬ 
tainly look at what you are drinking, my son.” 

Our start that morning was delayed because Sulei¬ 
man’s ear had to be doctored. A half-deaf, as well as 
a half-blind, guide was certainly a thing to be avoided, 
so we gave him all our spare under-garments, his ailment 
being entirely due to the fact that, with a temperature 
of zero, he slept on the cold sand in a ragged cotton shirt 
and a jerd transparently thin and tattered. He had 
started to walk more than a thousand miles (including his 
return journey after he had taken the camels back to 
Jedabia) with no other possessions than these and not one 
nickel of money! “Allah is great. He will provide,” 
he said simply as he wound my knitted spencer on his 
head and tied a pair of Hassanein’s breeches round his 
chest under his grimy shirt. The Arabs’ one desire is 
to muffle every possible garment—no matter for what 
portion of the anatomy it is designed—round their heads 


THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS 


267 


and shoulders—the rest they leave to chance and the 
winds of heaven! 

Nature was evidently determined to show us every¬ 
thing she was capable of in the way of climate, for that 
day not a breath of wind stirred and a torrid, aching 
sun beat down on us till our necks felt bruised and our 
heads heavy and unwieldy. We prayed for the night, 
almost as fervently as the day before, especially as a com¬ 
pletely new range of the exasperating Hawaish moun¬ 
tains appeared to the east. “After a day you will see 
them no more,” said Mohammed consolingly. “But they 
say the dunes go west all the way to Misurata—Allah 
alone knows!” After a three hours’ march, about 60 kilo¬ 
metres from Zakar, the dunes stopped altogether and we 
crossed uneven, stony ground till, an hour before sunset, 
we came to a single long line of huge, heavy dunes run¬ 
ning west to east. They rose suddenly, like clear golden 
flour, out of the dark stones which went right up to their 
base and though we followed them east for 14 kilometres 
that night and 24 the next morning, we never saw them 
merge into the rocky waste. Always they stood apart, 
immense, curly, ridged, like waves of a sunlit sea, a 
beautiful landmark which can be seen half a day’s journey 
ahead. 

It was warmer that night and we “fadhled” round 
a fire and ate Yusuf’s “asida,” the only^hing he liked 
better than camels, he told us, and listened to Suleiman’s 
tales of past journeys. As they contained every form 
of disaster that can assail humanity in the clutches of 
remorseless nature, we turned the conversation till he 
spoke of people living on this desolate stony ground 
“long, very long, ago!” “There used to be wood 
here and forage and there are stones stuck together with 
mortar and sometimes one picks up prepared milling 
stones, which have been used for crushing grain.” I 


268 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


doubted liis facts because in the afternoon he had pointed 
out traces of what he thought were walls constructed 
with mortar, but I thought they were merely a natural 
formation of the sandstone which takes so many odd 
shapes. I think his milling stones were due to the hand 
of nature in fantastic mood, for there could never have 
been water in the stony ground. 

February 1 we started at 7.15 a.m. and barraked at 
2.30 p.m. at the Mehemsa, a feeding ground, where it 
is customaiy to allow the camels a few hours’ rest and 
a good meal before starting to cross the four days’ waste 
in front without blade of grass or twig of firewood. A 
few camel skeletons mark the way below the tower¬ 
ing dunes and, here and there, one comes across large 
stones set on end by preceding travellers. These 
impromptu landmarks are of great value and we re¬ 
ligiously made them ourselves whenever possible. The 
Beduins are very good about this labour. I have seen 
Mohammed toil to the top of some hillock with a heavy 
slab of rock, after a long day’s journey, to make a mark 
that might cheer and guide a chance caravan years hence 
perhaps. 

We crossed the dunes where a wide channel of stony 
ground ran into a low, curly ridge and, immediately on 
the other side, found great shrubs and masses of dry grey 
brush, excellent fodder and firewood, but burning hot 
at midday. The dunes circled round west and north of 
an open space of some 4 kilometres. Beyond this again 
there was another track of hattab. Among this we 
camped and turned the camels loose to graze. They 
were disappointingly different. “Inshallah, we shall 
arrive at Jaghabub, but we shall leave two or three 
camels on the way,” said Yusuf. We were very anxious 
about our animals. The two young nagas were terribly 
thin, the big blond camel was obviously ill and two of 


THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS 


269 


the others were feeble and overworked. They should 
all have been rested and fed up at Kufara for at least 
another fortnight. We knew this at Taj, but the com¬ 
plicated politics of the place necessitated our precipitate 
departure. Yusuf told us that generally when a caravan 
travels the Kufara-Jaghabub route it spends a month 
at least in preparation. Forty or fifty camels are taken 
and these are all fed up for weeks beforehand, till they 
are very fat and strong. During that time they do no 
work, but are gradually trained to last thirteen days 
without drinking by ever-increasing waterless periods. 
When our camels arrived at Kufara they had done a 
hard 800 miles of journey, including one stretch of ten 
days without water and twelve without sufficient food, 
during the last three of which they were practically 
starving. After nine days’ rest they had to start to 
cross one of the hardest routes in North Africa, over¬ 
loaded and at a bad period of the year, when the climate 
is at its worst. We had, therefore, reason for our fears, 
and when the animals turned away from the plentiful 
fodder of the Mehemsa our little party lost something 
of its high spirits. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE ELUSIVE DUNES 

EAR the feeding ground are two large cisterns 



erected by order of Sayed el Mahdi. When 


^ any of the Senussi family wished to travel by 
this route, water was sent on ahead and stored in the 
cisterns, near which there is a small shanty falling into 
disrepair. As a matter of fact, there should undoubtedly 
be water at the Mehemsa. It is the same sort of ground 
as at Buttafal and Zakar and green bushes are plentiful 
and healthy. There is no rainfall and no dew to account 
for their existence otherwise. We also noticed a number 
of birds, conspicuous among them a grey and black 
variety larger than the “abu fasada.” In the time of 
Sidi el Mahdi slaves dug for water to a depth of 20 feet 
at the Mehemsa without coming to wet sand, but since 
then no one has tried. 

On February 2 we started north at 6.30 a.m. after 
a violent argument as to the best way of saving the 
camels. I wanted to follow the summer plan, start an 
hour before sunset, walk all night and camp two hours 
after dawn. One can do much longer marches this way, 
but the Beduins were reluctant to face the cold of the 
night. On the other hand, Mohammed was desperately 
afraid of another sandstorm, which would inevitably 
delay us. He therefore wanted to walk at least 15 hours 
a day. It is an unfortunate fact that a camel does 
13 hours, at a pace of 4 kilometres, infinitely easier than 
10 hours at 5. He is capable of plodding along evenly 


270 


THE ELUSIVE DUNES 27] 

without halting for an indefinite time, but the slower 
he goes the longer he will last. Mohammed was a bad 
camel-man. Frightened of the desperately long route 
in front of him, which had to be traversed in 12 days, 
he was anxious to push on at first in order to have some¬ 
thing up his sleeve; yet the loads, chiefly fodder and 
water, would grow lighter every day. I refused, there¬ 
fore, to do more than 12 or 13 hours a day, especially 
as our camels would not feed properly when* it was dark 
and cold. The best way of travelling is to start at 
5 a.m., barrak for a few hours at midday, feed the 
camels as the afternoon grows cooler and walk late into 
the night. But it means a double loading and we had 
not enough men or energy for that, so our beasts had 
to accustom themselves to feeding by starlight night and 
morning. 

That first day we had a cool wind, so we all walked 
cheerfully across the unbroken stretches of monotonous 
fawn sand. The world had become a level disk again, 
infinitely flat, its smoothness polished by the glaring 
sun till the mirage broke the edges, which seemed but 
a few yards away. I asked old Suleiman how he knew 
the way. “You put Jedi over your left eye and walk 
a long way—thus. Then you turn a little toward the 
kibla 1 and walk still more and then, if Allah wills, you 
arrive.” It was not exactly a reassuring answer after 
Abdullah’s vagaries, so I asked him where Jedi was at 
the moment- “I don’t know,” he replied with engag¬ 
ing frankness. “Where is she?” I showed him by 
the compass and he trudged on perfectly placidly, 
nibbling a date from the little store he kept tied up in 
a corner of his tattered jerd. 

When the sunset had painted our narrow world 
flame-red and, one by one, the stars had come out to 

1 The kibla is turned towards the ka-aba at Mecca. 


272 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 

show how infinitely remote is 4 ‘that inverted bowl we 
call the sky,” Mohammed pleaded for an extra spurt. 
“Let us just put that star out,” he urged, pointing to 
the brightest point in the west. Having noticed, how¬ 
ever, that all the camels were stumbling and swinging 
out of the line, I thought a race with the evening star 
would be a mistake, so I insisted on barraking. We 
made no zariba, leaving the loads ready coupled for the 
morning. We had taken very little hattab from the 
Mehemsa because of the weight, so our fire was of the 
smallest description and we should have been asleep in 
an hour, but for a prolonged dispute between Mohammed 
and Suleiman as to the necessity of agaling the camels. 
“They will not move, my son,” said Suleiman. “They 
are tired, like me, and I am an old man.” “Old, too, 
in experience,” replied our polite retainer, “but make 
my heart at peace by agaling them.” And he related 
a lurid story of how 70 camels had stampeded midway on 
the Zieghen route. They all reached Jalo safely, but 
some of the men, unexpectedly left to carry their food 
and water, died on the march. Suleiman was already 
rolled like a dormouse between two hawias, so he 
appealed to me for support. “Know you the saying of 
the Prophet, Uncle Suleiman,” I asked, “how a man 
came to him and asked whether he should agal his camel 
or put his trust in Allah? ‘First place the agal on the 
camel and then your trust in Allah,’ was the reply.” 

Various grunts and roars, mingled with my sleep, 
told me that the guide had been impressed by my 
theological learning and it seemed only a few minutes 
later that I woke to the sound of Yusuf’s voice, “Allah 
make you strong! Are you ready for rice?” Protest¬ 
ing that it must still be the middle of the night, I poked 
my head out of the flea-bag, dislodging a shower of 
sand from its folds, and a few yards away was one of 


f m 


\ 



CAMP AT MEHEMSA: YUSUF, MOIIAMMED AND AMAli 



THE AUTHOR ASI.EEP ON A CAMEL 













THE ELUSIVE DUNES 273 

the odd, vivid little pictures that flash suddenly into 
one’s life and that one never forgets. A crackling, 
scented fire, criminally large in the circumstances, threw 
a wavering golden circle in the midst of flat, shadowed 
sand, interminable, bourneless. Against the brilliant 
stars a tall, white-robed figure was silhouetted, hands 
raised to heaven, white hood framing the stern, dark- 
featured face, intoning the dawn prayers. “Allahu 
Akhbar!” rang out with undaunted faith, with un¬ 
dimmed courage, to the one Guide whom the Beduin 
trusts to lead his labouring caravans through desert and 
dune to the desired oasis. Beside the glowing brush¬ 
wood, Suleiman, bent double over a huge cauldron, 
monotonously pounded the morning’s “asida,” his long 
pestle moving to the rhythm of his quavering chant, 
while Amar, huddled under his coarse jerd, stirred red 
sauce flavoured with fil-fil. Yusuf’s plump face was set 
in immobile discontent against the flames, as, muffled 
in every conceivable garment and wrap, he methodically 
fed the fire, twig by snapping twig. White robes, a 
fire and the paling stars, with a circle of camels looming 
formless and dark in the background. That was my 
picture and then Yusuf’s cross voice spoiled it. “The 
girba water is very bad,” he said. “The rice will be 
black!” “Maleish! I shall not see it!” I said, 
shivering; but a few minutes later we tasted it, when 
the plump one, sleepy-eyed, shuffled across with a grimy 
frying-pan. He had sand on his nose and forehead to 
show that he had said his morning prayers, but, whereas 
the rest of the retinue devoutly bowed their heads to 
the earth three times a day at least, I always suspected 
Yusuf of calmly dabbing a little shingle on his face as 
he went along. 

The hard-boiled eggs gave out that day, so we had 
to drown the taste of the girba rice with sardines. Our 


274 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


midday meal now consisted of dates and a handful of 
“bucksumat,” for we had been given a couple of bags 
of these hard, unleavened biscuits, slightly sweetened 
and flavoured with carraway seeds, by the kindly ekhwan 
of Taj. In the evening we shared a tin of corned beef, 
but, alas! our great support of the Taiserbo journey had 
failed us, for the dates we had brought from Hawari 
were too fresh and they stung our mouths, blistering 
our gums and reducing us to agonies of thirst. The 
water allowance was too small to allow of our drinking 
except in the morning and the evening, so we had 
reluctantly to discard our dates. Yusuf insisted on 
eating one only each day, because there is an Arab 
proverb, “A date by the way or a young girl smiling 
makes a fortunate journey.” 

We started at 6.80 a.m. on February 3 and walked 
till 7 p.m., when the whole party, men and camels alike, 
sat down and groaned. It had been absolutely torrid, 
without a breath of wind. The girbas began to look 
distinctly thin and the clank of the water in the fanatis 
showed that a good deal had evaporated. Unfortunately, 
it had been very cold after the sandstorm the evening 
before our departure from the Zakar well and the 
camels had not drunk properly. Yusuf had made 
gloomy prognostications most of the day and when we 
came to a mound of sand, which had drifted over a few 
old hawias thrown away by a former caravan, he poked 
them viciously. “How many of our own shall we throw 
in this way?” he asked of fate. 

There is no logic in desert weather. After midday 
heat we had a very cold night. I remember I ate my 
chilly dinner with my gloves on and was not surprised 
to find there was frost, when a sudden storm of shouts 
and roars brought me rapidly out of my flea-bag and I 
fell over the thermometer in the dark. The camels 


THE ELUSIVE DUNES 


275 


apparently had gone wildly mad, for in spite of their agals 
they were all hobbling and hopping wildly round making 
immense noise, which the retinue were exceeding in their 
anxiety to drive the beasts away from our neatly arranged 
girbas, protected, as usual at night, by a hedge of baggage 
saddles. 

February 4 saw us away by 6.15, a good effort, 
chiefly due to a loading race between Amar and Yusuf 
against the guide and Mohammed. I think the former 
couple won, but all the loads were a little wobbly that day. 
A black duck flew low across our path, heading north. 
“It has gone into the upside-down country,” said Sulei¬ 
man, pointing ahead; and there, on the far horizon, we 
saw pale dunes and ridges, clear-cut, with violet shadows 
below peak and cliff. They looked but a few hours’ 
march away and we were all immensely happy, though 
we knew they were more than a day’s journey away. 

Again it was very hot, but Yusuf, who always enjoyed 
a burning sun, took it upon himself to cheer up the whole 
party. When a camel lay down and groaned, he carefully 
made a row of toy “asidas” in the sand, modelling the 
little hole at the top for a sauce with infinite trouble. 
“These are for him to eat, then he will be strong again,” 
he said smiling. When Suleiman complained of his 
eyesight the plump one cried: “I will ride ahead and 
see the way.” And, mounting his stick, he gambolled 
round, imitating every trick and gesture of horsemanship 
with perfect art. Finally, when the rest of us were so 
oppressed by the heat that we only wondered what we 
could take off next, we saw Yusuf solemnly fill the skirt 
of his shirt with sand and begin sowing it like grain right 
and left. “What on earth are you doing, you man?” 
exclaimed Mohammed. “The next traveller will find a 
patch of green grain and will be happy,” he said placidly. 
Nevertheless, that night, when the elusive dunes had 


276 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


failed to materialise even as shadows on the horizon, 
anxiety spread. Hassanein balanced himself perilously 
upright on the back of the Tebu beast, but could report 
nothing in sight, so consoled himself by re-mending his 
yellow shoes. 

All the afternoon there had been disputes as to whether 
we should go east or west of certain invisible dunes, and 
the retinue disagreed violently as to how soon we ought 
to see these landmarks or in what direction they were. 
Therefore, I was not surprised when I heard a bitter 
argument behind me. Reproaches were being hurled at 
Suleiman, who replied that he was old and could not 

see: “He has lost the-” wailed Mohammed. “We 

must stop. We cannot go on.” Yusuf joined in. “Is 
he sure he has lost it? Think, you man! Let him 
think, I tell you!” Expostulation and suggestion 
followed in loud chaos. I had coped with one such dispute 
on the morning when there should have been a ridge to 
the left and there wasn’t! I determined that Hassanein 
should struggle with this. Slightly deaf, he was nodding 
over his shoe—making far ahead on the grey camel. I 
rushed up to him crossly. “Get down at once,” I urged, 
seizing the beast ruthlessly by the neck and feeling angrier 
than ever at the sight of Hassanein’s mildly surprised and 
protesting face, as he desperately clutched his boots and 
the nearest supporting rope in preparation to being 
forcibly barraked! “Pull yourself together! Suleiman 
has lost the way. They are all fighting desperately. If 
it’s an important landmark he’s missed we had better 
wait till the morning. For heaven’s sake hurry!” 

One anguished glance at the angry group in the 
rear, who were all pointing backwards, was sufficient to 
make Hassanein swing off without question. I watched 
him literally propel himself into the argument, heard 
“Wallahi!” furiously repeated, saw hands flung sky- 



THE ELUSIVE DUNES 277 

wards and then, surprised, saw him extricate himself 
from Mohammed’s detaining hands and walk slowly back 
to his camel, methodically picking up the possessions he 
had ruthlessly scattered at my peremptory request. 

Well, what is it? What has he lost?” I shouted im¬ 
patiently. Hassanein waited till he was quite near and 
then he gave me a withering look and said very slowly, 
each word enunciated separately: “It—is—a—small— 
leather—bag—which—the—kaimakaan — gave — him — 
to—sell—in—J aghabub. Suleiman— has — left — it — 
behind!” 

On February 5 we broke camp at 6.30, singularly 
indifferent to coffee mysteriously mixed with candle- 
grease and rice, hairy with girba fur, in our anxiety to 
see the morning mirage. This time the dunes looked 
even nearer. One could see the wavy furrows along the 
ridges and every separate golden hillock, yet an hour later 
everything had vanished and the flat, fawn disk stretched, 
drab and monotonous, on every side. Suleiman was 
confident, however, that we should sleep in the dunes 
that night. Yusuf was cheerfully certain that, as we had 
not yet seen the Mazul ridge to the west, we should not 
“see land” for another day. When Beduins are 
travelling across a big, trackless desert, they always 
speak of any known country as “the land.” It is rather 
like a long sea voyage with the guide as pilot. He 
keeps the caravan’s head turned in the right direction by 
the stars and waits to pick up a familiar landmark before 
making directly for his oasis. At 10 a.m. the old guide 
uttered something nearly resembling a shriek and threw 
himself on Yusuf’s neck. “I see the Mazul!” he ex¬ 
claimed, “and it is near, very near.” Leaving the pale 
line of distant hillocks to our left, we headed directly 
north towards other dunes which began to appear, a faint 
blur on the horizon. The two little nagas edged away to 


278 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


the west all day in the most determined way. Yusuf 
said they knew that their mothers, from whom we had 
separated them at Taj, were now travelling on the 
Zieghen-Jalo route and instinct was driving them 
towards the soldier-slaves’ caravan. 

The plump one’s character always appeared to greater 
advantage in really hard times. When things were going 
easily his scowl was a marvel of discontented endurance. 
His eyes shut into little slits and his voice became a 
plaintive whine. When big difficulties arose, when camels 
were failing and everybody was over-tired, Yusuf cheered 
up the whole caravan. His absurd little songs trickled 
out hour after hour, he told long fairy stories about giants 
and princesses, he made elaborate jokes which we daily 
received with new interest. Thus, if anyone lagged 
behind they were always greeted when they rejoined the 
caravan as if after a long absence, upon which they 
replied that they had come from Jedabia or Jalo in two 
or three days, were congratulated on their walk, and asked 
minutely for news concerning every person in the place. 
This particular game never wearied and we all grew most 
inventive at the expense of the good folk at Jedabia. 

One would think that in a thirteen hours’ walk each 
day one would find time for much conversation, but the 
desert breeds reserve. It is so big that one’s own plans 
and projects seem too little to be talked about. Also, 
there is so much time to say anything that one continually 
puts it off and ends by never saying it at all. We used 
to walk for hours without a word, till Yusuf broke the 
silence by some reflection on his approaching marriage 
or the sickness that he saw in some camel’s eye. By this 
time I had learned how to make myself understood in 
Libya. The nouns are nearly all different, but after one 
had learnt a list of those one gets on very nicely with 
but two verbs. To express any more or less peaceful 


THE ELUSIVE DUNES 


279 


occupation like travelling, stopping, loading, unloading, 
letting fall, starting, etc., ad infinitum J one employs the 
word “shil.” If one wishes to imply any more vigorous 
or offensive action, like fighting, attacking, climbing 
hurriedly, eating, burning, becoming angry, “akal” 
seems to be elastic enough to express it. 

We finally arrived at the dunes nearly two hours 
before sunset, luckily hitting two very big dunes that 
were well-known landmarks. Yusuf wanted to turn in 
behind them. Suleiman insisted on going to the right, 
which brought us into a wide, flat stretch some 12 kilo- 
meres long. We barraked at the end of it in a rising 
wind, which soon put out our little folding lantern, so 
that we lost everything, including the tin opener, in the 
dark. It was rather a miserable night, for the hattab 
we had brought from the Mehemsa was exhausted and 
our efforts to make tea over a little fire of “leaf” torn 
from one of the hawias were not very successful. 

The water from the girba we opened that night was 
really bad. Its colour and taste alike were extraordinary, 
so we regretfully decided to use it only for cooking. 
Suleiman looked at it with interest. “We have enough 
water, Hamdulillah!” he said. “In any case I can 
live for a week without drinking.” When we questioned 
him as to this amazing statement he told us that Sidi el 
Mahdi habitually sent out caravans to explore the country 
round Kufara. Suleiman, an old man and a boy, had 
formed one of these parties, and they had wandered as 
far afield as Merg, thirteen days south-east of their 
starting-point, when one dark night their camels were 
stolen by a band of brigands. Presumably something 
happened to the girbas and provisions, for in the morning 
the exploring party found themselves with enough water 
and dates for a day and a half and they were six days’ 
journey from the nearest well, the Oweinat. However, 


280 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


the three started off to walk to it, actually carrying their 
rifles. The old man got ill after one day and insisted on 
being left behind. After two days his erstwhile com¬ 
panions discarded their rifles. After three, Suleiman got 
fever and lay down to die, but the boy went on and arrived 
safely at the well. Our guide unexpectedly recovered 
from his fever after twenty-four hours and started off 
again, walking only at night and lying down all day. He 
arrived at Oweinat on the seventh day so exhausted and 
so parched with thirst that he could not get the liquid 
down his throat, so he lay in the water in the well for a 
whole day and was then able to drink. Luckily a caravan 
had thrown away some dates, and with a small store of 
these and the little water he could carry, Suleiman calmly 
walked on to Kufara, another week’s journey! The old 
man who had been left to die on the road arrived a day 
later with his rifle. The feat seems inconceivable, but 
Yusuf vouched for the truth of the story and Amar told 
how he had drunk only once in 72 hours when the water 
in the girba went bad. Then Mohammed, not to be 
outdone in endurance, related how he had travelled from 
Jalo to Jaghabub in four days and four nights, without 
sleeping, eating as the camels went along, because the 
girbas were all leaking and he was afraid of running 
short of water. 

By this time we felt that our own little effort to draw 
a new red line across a survey map was very small and 
insignificant and that we should certainly be able to walk 
to Jaghabub carrying a fanatis and a tin of corned beef 
if necessary! We were much less confident of it next 
morning, however, when all the camels turned up their 
noses at the date food offered them and deliberately ran 
away. There was nowhere for them to run to among 
the dunes, so we got them back after a laborious half- 
hour, but I felt that the word “agal” and not Kufara 


THE ELUSIVE DUNES 


281 


would be written across my heart in future! There was 
no fire that morning, and uncooked soaked rice is not 
appetising. I remember I was tying the remains of my 
stockings round my feet when I heard a gloomy voice 
say: “We ate the last box of sardines last night because 
you lost the beef-tin-opener in the sand and the rice is 
coal black. I wish you would not be so miserly with 
the fanatis water!” I didn’t pay much attention as I 
hadn’t any more stockings. Evidently the primrose and 
scarlet boots which I had bought for four mejidies (six¬ 
teen shillings) at Jof were not suited for walking, for I 
had been wearing two pairs of woollen stockings one 
over the other and now they all hung in shreds round 
my feet. However, I did look up when the plaintive 
tones continued. “I’ve found one sardine. He must 
have fallen out when you upset the canteen in the sand.” 
With horror I saw a soddened, dark mass and on the 
top of it a minute yellow block shaped like a fish, but I 
did not like to be discouraging. “Are you sure that there 
is a sardine inside that sand?” I asked diffidently. Has- 
sanein was offended. “Will you carve him or shall I?” 
he asked majestically. 

On February 6 we plunged right into the dunes. On 
the whole they ran north to south in great wavy ridges, 
which would be impossible for camels to cross. In be¬ 
tween were wide stretches of rolling ground, rising 
gradually to lower dunes through which Suleiman con¬ 
fidently picked his way. The little old man was very 
calm. “I have never been this route before, but if I 
keep Jedi in my left eye we shall arrive, Insha-allah!” 
he said, and when Yusuf complained violently that there 
was no hattab—the retinue had eaten raw flour and water 
that morning—he answered simply, “Allah will bring 
provisions.” A few minutes later we came upon a 
camel skeleton, a most welcome sight, for it proved 


282 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


we were on the right track; inside the ribs were some 
large slabs of dried dung. Mohammed pulled this out 
triumphantly. “A fire! A fire! Hamdulillah!” And 
therefore everyone was cheerful till Amar brought the 
news that Yusuf was ill. We had seen the plump one 
lie down some way in the rear, but thought he was only 
resting for half an hour, a thing we all did in turns, only 
the difference between the nature of East and West 
showed at these moments, for whereas the Beduins slept 
peacefully in the rear and then ran after the camels, I 
used to toil on ahead and lay myself across the path of 
the caravan, so that I must wake at its approach. It 
appeared that Yusuf had fallen down and then lost con¬ 
sciousness for about an hour; it was very lucky that he 
managed to catch up the caravan at all. We mounted him 
on the Tebu camel, which was the strongest of the caravan 
but was already showing signs of thirst, and toiled on. 

It was much harder walking in the dunes, for the sand 
was soft and deep in patches, but the great curly ridges, 
golden as Irish butter, which Yusuf always looked at 
affectionately, because they reminded him of his beloved 
“asida,” were friendly spirits after the dreary disk of the 
preceding four days. It was always a thrilling moment 
when one mounted a high gherd, for there was the possi¬ 
bility of a view. Logically one could expect to see only 
waving yellow crests, a sunlit expanse of sand valley and 
mountain in every direction, but the impossible might 
always happen. One might espy a caravan or an oasis— 
or at least some hattab! 

For this reason we always hastened ahead up the big 
rises to look down on wind-tossed ranges, and towards 
the evening we were rewarded for our energy by the 
appearance of little black specks in one of the hollows. 
“Hattab,” said Suleiman laconically and Yusuf re¬ 
covered at the word—or perhaps it was the quinine which 


THE ELUSIVE DUNES 283 

we had given him earlier in the day! We raced down 
to the brittle stalks of twisted coarse-grained wood that 
meant fires and hot food that night, and everyone began 
to talk of what they would eat! 

Just after sunset we came to an almost perpendicular 
dime which the camels refused to descend. We had to 
dig a sloping trough down it and push the beasts into it 
one by one. Everybody was tired and the camels were 
incredibly stupid. The young nagas simply rolled down, 
flinging their loads in front of them, at which Mohammed 
lost his temper and made matters worse by violently 
beating the animals, still hesitating at the top. They 
stumbled forward in a huddled mass, and I saw the 
girbas threatened. Luckily the Tebu beast was carrying 
most of them. He plunged solidly down on his great 
splay feet and I had just enough energy left to seize his 
head-rope and drag him out of the chaos. We barraked 
before our short-sighted guide could lead us over another 
such precipice and, because it was a joy to be wasteful 
of anything on that journey, we made no fewer than three 
fires and recklessly poured everything we could find into 
the frying-pan together—rice and corned beef and tinned 
turnips—so that we ate a hot, very hot, meal. We even 
drank our one cup of tea hot, debating the while whether 
coffee were not preferable, for, though it made one thirsty, 
it somewhat hid the taste of the girba water. 

Everything by now tasted slightly of wax, for, in the 
hot days, all the candles had melted in the canteen. It 
is certainly possible to clean pots and pans beautifully 
with sand, but it needs a great deal of energy to do it 
and I defy anyone to have any superfluous energy after 
loading and feeding camels before a twelve to thirteen 
hours’ march, unloading and feeding the tired and smelly 
beasts at the end of it, agaling them while they persist¬ 
ently tried to escape, preparing some sort of a meal 


284 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


and then, worst of all, oh! intolerably worst, the sand- 
rash that tortured our nights! Let no one who dreams of 
a poetic, Swinburnian desert come to Libya! We had 
not washed anything but our hands since leaving Hawari 
thirteen days before and not even these since the Zakar 
well; since then we had had a sandstorm which had 
filled every pore with minute grit, so that by day the 
irritation was just bearable, but at night, in the warmth 
and the restricted space of the flea-bag, it was a torture 
beyond belief. I used to feel that never, so long as I 
lived, would I able to bear seeing water spilled or 
wasted. 

Fate had been cruel to us in one respect, for the 
day at the Zakar well, when we had dreamed of sandy 
baths in the canteen lid behind a friendly palm tree, 
she had sent us the first of our two sandstorms, so wash¬ 
ing had been confined to a teacup for our fingers. One 
lay at night, sleepless and burning, and looked up at 
the aloof peace of the stars and wondered vindictively 
how one could get even with the desert for this last 
trick of hers. Yet, in the cold, still dawn, the desperate 
tiredness vanished and one made a huge, unnecessary 
fire to breakfast by and ate black rice with immense 
relish. Yusuf was very proud of his skill as a cook, so 
we did not like to tell him of all the foreign bodies we 
found in our food—bits of leaf and straw from the 
baggage saddles, grit, hair, pebbles and sand—it was the 
Libyan sauce and I think Hassanein suffered much in 
silence, for it was his first desert journey and he still 
hankered after cleanliness. I used to find him desperately 
and secretly rubbing a plate with a corner of his muffler 
or his best silk handkerchief and, whenever he was late 
for breakfast, I knew it was because he had been unwise 
enough to look at his cup or fork before using them! 

On our second day in the dunes the flat spaces grew 


THE ELUSIVE DUNES 


285 


rarer, so that we climbed up and down ridges most of 
the time. The camels began to show signs of wear. 
One of the nagas trailed her head most of the time. 
The big blond beast had to be relieved of his load. 
They were all very smelly, which is the first sign 
of thirst. Luckily, we found patches of green hattab, 
the prickly, juiceless bush of the Mehemsa, scattered 
under the dunes and the animals raced to it, fighting 
for the freshest tufts. Amar got fever and had to 
be allowed to ride, while I was so tired that I found 
a way of festooning myself over the pegs of the baggage 
saddles, my knees wound round one and my neck round 
another. In this extraordinarily uncomfortable position 
I actually dozed, while Yusuf wandered beside me doubt¬ 
fully. “You are very long,” he said politely. “I think 
you will fall.” And he tried to double up a dangling 
foot much as if it was a piece of baggage slipping. 

I could not understand the presence of green bushes 
till I found my pillow that night wet with a heavy dew. 
Then I realised that we had left the southern lands 
behind us and next day, February 8, there were a few 
little clouds in the sky, just specks of fluffy white, but 
we had become used to the molten blue that roofs the 
red country of Kufara and her encircling wastes. That 
was for me the worst day. The little camels persistently 
threw their loads, ill-balanced because the fodder had 
become so much lighter. There was a cold east wind, 
which blistered one’s skin on one side, while the sun 
scorched it on the other. The camels would not keep 
together, but strayed off to each patch of green. The 
dunes seemed steeper than ever and the sand softer and 
heavier. No one was sure of the way. Even Suleiman 
was a little depressed at not picking up any of the land¬ 
marks he had known on previous journeys. He insisted 
on keeping his course due north, though we knew 


286 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


Jaghabub lay north-east, and his only explanation was 
that it was easier to approach the place from the west. 
Logically, I thought it would be easier to strike east, 
so that if one went past Jaghabub one would at least 
reach Siwa. To the west lay only the seven days’ 
waterless stretch to Jalo. 

However, Suleiman was immovable and we plodded 
wearily on, placing one foot in front of the other with 
desperate firmness and flinging ourselves flat on our 
faces for a few minutes’ blessed sleep whenever the 
camels lingered to feed. I remember wondering, as I 
dragged myself up after one of these short respites, how 
many separate and distinct aches one’s body could feel 
at the same moment. I was getting quite interested 
in the problem when Hassanein’s bronzed face—it 
seemed to have grown hollow these last few days— 
appeared beside me. He was painfully shuffling on 
blistered feet after a twelve hours’ walk the previous 
day. “When we get to Cairo everyone will say, 
What fun you must have had!’ ” he said drearily. 
Even this idea could not make me speak. I had dis¬ 
covered it was easier to walk with my eyes shut and so, 
mutely, I shuffled after the guide, dragging my stick 
till I dropped it and was too tired to pick it up again. 

Yes, it was a bad day, but it ended at last with a 
few patches of black pebbles, sure sign that we were 
nearing the northern edge of the dunes. Even the 
sand rash, combined with a most remarkable tasting dish 
produced by Hassanein’s efforts to clean the frying-pan, 
could not keep me awake that night and I slept soundly 
till Yusuf’s plaintive voice, saying all in one breath, 
“Allah-make-you-strong-the-fire-is-ready-for - the-rice!” 
roused me to a starry world and an exceedingly damp 
one, but I imagine these very heavy dews helped the 
thirsty camels considerably, so I didn’t regret a wet 


THE ELUSIVE DUNES 287 

barracan which twisted itself reluctantly round everything 
but me! 

February 9 was memorable, for on climbing the high 
dune under which we had camped we saw a long, faint 
ridge, blue on the north-east horizon. “Land at last!” 
exclaimed Mohammed. “It must be the mountain 
between Jaghabub and Siwa!” Even this reassuring 
suggestion would not turn our guide from his northerly 
course, but signs that we were leaving the great desert 
abounded. So far the only living things had been large, 
unpleasant beetles, mottled black and fawn creatures, 
some nearly four inches long, which looked like scattered 
stones till they suddenly raised themselves on long legs 
and scuttled away. That morning, however, we saw 
many black and grey birds and at last, when the green 
patches of hattab had developed into large brown-like 
shrubs and neat little dwarf trees, leafless and but two 
or three feet high, we came across gazelle traces. We 
also found two complete skulls with the tapering horns 
in perfect condition. The country was changing notice¬ 
ably. The previous day there had been a few patches of 
the Jaghabub grey stone among the sand, the sight of 
which filled the retinue with delight. On February 9 
great blocks of it appeared in fantastic masses rising 
suddenly from dune and hollow. We noticed scattered 
pieces of fossilised wood, some of which appeared to have 
been part of the trunks of big trees. Stretches of what 
looked like black pebbles shimmered dark beyond the 
farthest ridge. 

Finally, Mohammed, mounting an immense curly 
backed sand peak at noon, tore off his turban, tied it 
round his staff and, waving it bannerwise above his head, 
shouted wildly, “I see my country! The land is near!” 
The camels were the only indifferent beings in the 
caravan. They were too tired to quicken the pace, 


288 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


which had dropped to two miles an hour during the 
last day or two. They had got very thin, with dull 
eyes, but luckily there was a slight breeze to relieve 
the intense heat which scorched us whenever we stopped 
for grazing in a hollow. There were streaks of white 
cloud in the pale sky and I imagined a breath of salt 
flavoured the northern breeze, so that suddenly I was 
desperately home-sick for the great free desert, lawless 
and boundless, that we were leaving. Ahead were the 
comfortable lands where the nomads camp in their 
tattered “nuggas” and the Beduins pasture their herds, 
the Gebel Akhbar and Cyrenaica, the welcome of the 
tent-dwellers for all caravans who have travelled the 
“big routes.” 

Somewhere, “east of us,” said the compass, “north 
of us,” said Suleiman, lay the last outpost of the wilder¬ 
ness, if not the birthplace, at least the training ground 
of Senussi-ism, but the lure of space dragged one’s mind 
back. The claw of the desert was tearing away the 
peace that should lie at a journey’s end. I do not think 

1 ever felt mentally flatter than when, just before 

2 a.m., we passed through the last little hollow where 
green and gold were mixed and the mighty belt of 
dunes lay behind us. In front was a most desolate 
country of grey slate and streaks of white chalky sand 
and pebbles, with here and there a dull madder gherd 
or stony cliff- A faint thrill of interest was given to the 
moment by the fact that none of the retinue knew -where 
we were, but as I was determined that east we should 
now go, whatever they said, it did not much matter. 

Suleiman climbed one dune and said we were between 
the hatias of Bu Alia and Bu Salama on the Jalo road. 
Mohammed climbed another and said that both these 
places were to the east of us. Yusuf lay down firmly 
on a soft spot and said that all known country was still 



WELL IK ZAWIA AT JAGHABUB 
















- 





* 








* . 


















THE ELUSIVE DUNES 


289 


to the north and he was going to sleep till the guide 
found his head again. 

The happy-go-lucky Beduin spirit had completely 
got possession of us, so no one was particularly surprised 
when, after an hour on the course insisted on by the 
compass and myself, we picked up a definite trail with 
some slabs of stones stuck upright as landmarks. As a 
matter of fact we had struck the Jalo-Jaghabub route, 
rather more than a day’s journey west of the latter 
place, but at the time nobody was certain as to our 
exact position. Amar, however, announced that un¬ 
doubtedly Bu Alia lay behind us, and no sooner had the 
whole retinue agreed on that one point than the begin¬ 
ning of the hatia of that name became visible a few 
hundred yards ahead! “Hamdulillah! We shall camp 
to-night in our own country!” exclaimed Mohammed, 
and hurried on the caravan in spite of Yusuf’s expostula¬ 
tions. Gazelle tracks were now plentiful and we tried 
to track down four in the hope of getting a shot, but 
Suleiman was nearly dead-beat. “The last word is in 
your hands,” he said, “but I am an old man and very 
tired. Let us barrak here.” 

The hatia was really a wadi stretching about 5 kilo¬ 
metres north to south, with a breadth of 4 kilometres. 
The whole space between the white shale and sand 
banks was filled with mounds and shrubs of hattab, 
mostly green, while here and there massive blocks of 
greyish sandstone stuck up in strange shapes. As one 
wandered slowly through the low bushes far away to 
the north a long purplish ridge with a mound at the 
end shaped exactly like the dome of a mosque caught 
the first red of the sunset. “That is the gherd of the 
qubba,” exclaimed Yusuf, his round tired face lighting 
up, “and look, in front of us is the Gara of Sidi el 
Mahdi!” At the farthest end of the hatia was an 


290 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


immense block of red sandstone flung up by the hands 
of some forgotten giant upon a mighty base of polished 
white, so that it looked like a primeval altar to the 
gods of earth and sky. Here the Mahdi used to halt 
his immense caravans on the Jalo journey and under 
the shadow of the rough natural sanctuary pray for a 
prosperous venture or give thanks for a safe return. 

Even Suleiman spoke no more of barraking. With¬ 
out a word spoken, everyone felt that the Maghrib 
prayers must be said where the spirit of the Mahdi 
would surely welcome travellers from the far-off oasis, 
whose red and amber he had changed to wealth of grain 
and fruit and flowers. The weary camels were hurried 
from their indifferent nibbling among the dry shrubs. 
When the full glory of the golden west lit up the 
strange altar, balanced between heaven and earth, and 
the faint silver crescent of a new moon glowed pale 
amidst the flame, we came round the corner of the rock 
and saw the simplest kibla that ever the faithful turned 
towards the Ka-aba. It was but three grey, rough 
boulders, with a circle of stones to mark the shape of 
an imaginary mosque, yet it was holy ground and we 
left our worn shoes outside, before we bowed our faces 
to the desert sands. What prayers the stern Mohammed 
mixed with his, “In the name of Allah compassionate 
and merciful,” I know not. What simple thanksgivings 
were murmured by our weather-beaten guide, if the 
young zawia student, Amar, grasped the perils from 
which he had been protected, if Yusuf’s mind realised 
for one fleeting moment that there was something beyond 
his comfortable practicality, I cannot guess, but I know 
that never in my life have I offered more whole-hearted 
gratitude to the Power that, called by many different 
names in many different cities, is omnipotent in the 
deserts! 


CHAPTER XV 


THE END OF THE JOURNEY 

W E camped that night at Bu Salama, the next 
hatia on the way to Jaghabub. The wood was 
too green to make really good fires, though 
Mohammed and Hassanein laboured manfully in the 
sand. The rest of us were too tired to care what hap¬ 
pened, provided we could lie down and not move for 
hours and hours. The grey camel evidently shared our 
feelings, for he had fallen in barraking. Amar, hopping 
round him distressfully without making the slightest 
attempt to help the rider, called repeatedly on the name 
of Sidi el Mahdi. It is amazing the complete faith every 
Senussi has in the spiritual and mental power of the 
Sayeds. Whenever the young nagas ran away old Sulei¬ 
man used to stand perfectly still and repeat urgently, 
“Influence of Sidi Idris! Influence of Sidi Idris!” 
While once, while sleeping perilously in a more than 
usually odd position, I nearly fell as my camel stumbled 
down a dune, Yusuf muttered the name of every Sayed 
living and dead to ensure my safety. 

I have never travelled in any country so united in 
devotion to its ruler as Libya. Presumably Sidi Idris is 
somewhat less powerful than Allah in the eyes of the 
Senussi, but he is nearer at hand! Their confidence in 
his capabilities is so unbounded that it must occasionally 
embarrass the Sayed himself. From curing a camel a 
thousand miles away to stopping a sandstorm, from 
conquering the world to producing a well where there 
291 


292 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


is no water, all are within the power of the son of Sidi 
el Mahdi. Our own prestige as friends of so important 
and puissant a personage was, therefore, considerably 
lowered when we humbly suggested that the retinue had 
better leave their varied armouiy in Jaghabub as we could 
not guarantee that the Egyptian frontier authorities 
would allow them to enter Siwa. Yusuf looked blank. 

“But you will write a letter-” he suggested. He knew 

the all-powerful, almost magical effect of a missive from 
Sidi Idris in Libya, and reasoned that his guests could 
surely arrange the simple affair of the rifles in their own 
country by putting pen to paper. When we confessed our 
impotence he entertained the gravest doubts as to our 
position and respectability! 

We had decided to send Mohammed on to Jaghabub 
before sunrise so that we might sleep next night in a 
house. Therefore, long after I had retired into my flea¬ 
bag, I saw Hassanein and Yusuf struggling to shave our 
delightful retainer by the light of the camp fire with a 
safety razor blade held in a pair of pliers. Suleiman 
and Amar offered interested suggestions interspersed 
with remarks on the number of grey hairs which had 
resulted from the journey. 

In spite of the eight hours’ journey ahead, Mohammed 
donned his best clothes to present himself at the zawia 
where he had been educated. Therefore I was surprised 
when Yusuf started next morning in his ragged white 
shirt and patched waterproof. “I always ride the last 
day of a journey,” he announced firmly, depositing him¬ 
self on the least weary camel. 

We broke camp at 7 a.m. and straggled slowly by 
dreary grey gherds and uneven stretches of colourless 
sands and stones to a small hatia, Bahet Hafan, where a 
few palms grew among more fantastic boulders. The 
heat was intense as we entered a country of low white 



THE END OF THE JOURNEY 293 

hillocks, with slabs of shale that made the camels stumble 
more than ever; but the end came with unexpected 
rapidity, for, after the guide had told us under a noon 
sun that it was a long day’s march to Jaghabub, Yusuf 
spied the white qubba of the zawia from a friendly gherd. 
In a few minutes the whole round wadi spread before us, 
with its strips of scattered palms and brushwood, and 
beyond a line of square sandstone cliffs the white walls 
of Jaghabub that looked so near and that took us more 
than two hours to reach. 

The home of Sidi Ben Ali is by far the most pic¬ 
turesque of the Senussi oases, for it is blinding white in 
the sunshine—a smooth, polished cupola and tall madna, 
with the open-arched gallery of Sidi Idris’s house rising 
above the massive, fortress-like walls of the zawia, all 
white—white as the windmills that look like marble 
pillars in the distance or the pale sand brick of the few 
big houses that surround the zawia. Jaghabub is not a 
town in the proper sense of the word. It is one immense 
building with thick, windowless walls, surrounding a 
maze of courts, passages, schools, lodging! for students, 
the big houses of the Senussi family and the large mosque 
and qubba of Sidi Ben Ali. It stands on a cliff from 
which flights of steps lead down to palm gardens and the 
one big well that supplies water to the whole settlement. 
Outside the massed, many-storied buildings of the zawia 
are a few scattered houses, but Jaghabub is a university 
pure and simple. When Sidi el Mahdi removed his head¬ 
quarters to Kufara he freed half a hundred slaves, giving 
them the gardens that they cultivated and ordering that 
their rights should be respected by his successors; so now 
there is a colony of these liberated blacks who live among 
the palms in the wadi. They work hard in their vegetable 
gardens, which are irrigated by an excellent system of 
channels and reservoirs dependent on the spring below 


294 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


the zawia, and they sell their dates and produce to the 
college. 

Two of the students met us half-way across the wadi 
with a note from Mohammed saying that rooms were 
being prepared for us in the zawia and Yusuf promptly 
proceeded to change his clothes. He tore off his tattered 
shirt, baring a muscular brown torso to the public gaze, 
produced a mysterious bundle from a sack on my camel 
and shook from it embroidered waistcoat, silk jerd, 
yellow shoes and immaculate white linen, all of which he 
donned as we walked along. When the white walls were 
very near we fired our revolvers into the air to announce 
our arrival and Mohammed came out to meet us, smiling 
broadly. We passed through a big, white arch into a 
wide, open space with a well in the middle, round which 
were clustered groups of students who gave us warm 
greeting. To the right rose the solid, castle-like wall of 
Sidi Idris’s house, whose gallery on the other side looked 
down on to a beautiful square court of the qubba with 
its wide-arched and columned arcades. The facade near 
the square is pierced by a few shuttered windows and 
the carved main door through which one goes to the 
qubba court. To the left the square was bordered by a 
row of neat little round-lintelled doors, each with a slit 
of window above it, the lodging-houses for the students. 
A big, two-storied house rose beyond and, at the door 
of this, we were met by a delightful old man with pale, 
thin face, a long beard as white as his woollen jerd or 
the colourless walls behind him. 

“Greeting to you and the peace of Allah!” he said, 
and led us into a dwelling more complicated even than 
the kaimakaan’s house of many courts at Taj. We 
went up and down little flights of steps which seemed to 
exist without reason, under low arches, by odd little 
passages and mud-floored yards, till a longer staircase led 


THE END OF THE JOURNEY 


295 


us to a flat roof, across which we followed our host to 
a large high room, matted and carpeted, but devoid of 
furniture. For the first time I lived in an Arab house 
which had a view from the windows, for here there was 
no yard to shut one into a mysterious little world of 
secluded privacy. From the cross-barred windows with 
swinging shutters one looked down on the big square 
and the white figures gossiping round the well or across 
to the group of our weary camels, literally bulging after 
their enormous drink, to students seated at the doors of 
their rooms with Koran and rosary. 

Our host, Sidi Yadem Bu Gemira, one of the im¬ 
portant ekhwan, was so anxious to hear the complete 
story of our journey that he would not leave us before 
we had drunk sweet coffee, seated on his best carpet, 
and answered all his questions as to why we had come 
from Kufara by such a hard route. Before we had 
satisfied his kindly curiosity, Sidi el Fagil, plump and 
ebony-faced, with greying moustache, the Imam of the 
mosque, and other ekhwan, had hurried to visit us. I 
was so tired I could hardly hold up my head. My nose 
was blistered and peeling, my face burning, my eyes 
watering. I was intensely hungry. Every nerve seemed 
to be throbbing and aching and, above all, I was conscious 
of dirt. I felt completely vague as I leaned against the 
wall and, when a murmur of voices below suggested the 
possibility of other visits, I basely left Hassanein to 
entertain the venerable ekhwan and crept down a discreet 
little stairway to a quaint-shaped room that lurked under 
one of the innumerable archways, forgotten, I think, 
by the architect, who must have had a most tortuous 
mind. It was full of dust and clay, but I felt a little 
more dirt did not matter, and here I was found by the 
kindly Yusuf, when the last visitor had gone, fast asleep 
on Hassanein’s grimy jerd. 


296 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


“The Sitt Khadija must eat,” he said. “The wakil 
of Sidi Idris has sent you dinner.” The magic word 
roused me and the sight of a gleaming brass tray set 
on a little table 6 inches high in the middle of our 
unbroken sea of carpet finished the cure. When we 
lifted the palm-leaf covers from the bowls we found 
eggs, pigeons and vegetables cooked in wonderful savoury 
sauces, with piles of most delicious bread, brown and 
flaky, but, alas! every cunning sauce was so impregnated 
with red pepper that we had most gingerly to remove 
the pigeons and dust them carefully before eating, after 
which we regretfully deposited a just proportion of the 
rest of the meal in a carefully prepared hole in a back¬ 
yard lest the feelings of our host be hurt. We had 
just removed all traces of our villainy when he appeared 
to drink tea with us. 

Sidi Hussein, the wakil, was, of all the hosts who 
generously entertained us on behalf of the Sayeds, the 
most delightful because he was the most simple. 
Jaghabub is not a political or mercantile centre, like 
Kufara or Jalo. It has all the dreaming peace of a 
little university town, only its dons are reverend, grey- 
bearded sheikhs in flowing white jerds over grass-green 
or indigo-blue robes. Its undergraduates are graver 
figures, with books and beads, than those of Trinity or 
The House, while the scouts, I suppose, are the black 
slaves of hideous aspect who live in a special court of 
the zawia, but I feel sure they are more industrious and 
certainly more frugal than their English counterparts on 
the banks of the Isis and Cam. 

Sidi Hussein made tea with a formality as deliberate 
as that of the kaimakaan at Taj, but his conversation 
was much less ceremonious. There was no rigid 
etiquette observed in series of questions and answers. 
For once the undercurrent of suspicion and unrest was 



OUR HOST AT JAGHABUB 


t 









































































* 






























THE END OF THE JOURNEY 297 


absent and we curled up our mental antennse with a 
feeling of complete peace. The little town, so aloof 
from the world in its secluded wadi, yet the nursery of 
a great confraternity where still is nourished a force 
whose influence is felt all along North Africa, wished us 
well. A very intimate friendliness pervaded the gather¬ 
ing in the semi-gloom of the candle-lit room. The 
wakil’s huge beard flowed grey and soft over dark 
jubba with a many-coloured waistcoat beneath, but there 
was no lavish display of silk or embroidery, because the 
ekhwan of Jaghabub are more devoted to learning than 
to luxury. “We are poor men who spend our time in 
prayer,” said one of them with the utmost simplicity 
and a dreamy look in his faded old eyes. Their great 
pride is their qubba, and a reflection for this homage 
showed in Yusuf’s face when, the night of our arrival, 
just as I had finished scrubbing off the first layer of 
grime and was wondering if I could decently ask Amar 
to heat another quart or two of water, he arrived with 
a guttering candle to suggest that I should go at once 
to see the sanctuary. “There will be no people there 
at this hour,” he said, but, when we had crossed the 
starlit square and left our shoes inside the first arcade 
of the mosque, we heard a low, monotonous chanting 
coming from the shadows beyond the great white court! 
It was in keeping with the solemn spirit of the night 
and the scene and the proud happiness in Yusuf’s face, 
as he led me through long, dim ways which he trod 
unfaltering, back again in imagination in his boyhood’s 
days, when perhaps he had been as earnest and devout 
a learner as the grave-faced students who passed us in 
the square. 

Through a fine carved and painted door we passed 
into the mosque, very quiet, white and dignified, the 
dark carpets on the floor the only rich note to break 


298 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


its utter simplicity. The silence began to beat on my 
ear drums with the impression of so many prayers, 
hopes, resolves, fervently uttered by youth in these low 
aisles, remembered again by age when it revisited the 
earliest centre of its faith. Yusuf did not break it. 
Eyes bright with a light I had never seen in them 
before, he beckoned me on into the qubba itself and 
we stood in a painted chamber, ornate with gold and 
many colours, below the big dome, hung with huge, 
finely moulded glass lamps. I murmured swift Arabic 
prayers before a square grid of carved bronze that 
surrounded the tomb of the great Senussi. I was afraid 
even the whisper of the “Fatha” might hurt the 
silence, for our footfalls were muffled by thick, piled 
carpets, but the man whose mind I had always imagined 
fixed on things of the earth, earthly, shattered it with 
a sudden sound, half cry, half groan, as he bent passion¬ 
ately to kiss the rail and afterwards the hand with which 
he had touched it! 

In the morning, after an excellent but peppery 
breakfast brought by Mabruk, a hatchet-faced slave 
whom we used to watch running across the square with 
a bowl into which he poked a surreptitious finger at our 
door to see if it were still hot, I went again to the 
mosque and saw other Senussi tombs. I found the wide, 
white arches had much charm by sunlight, but I never 
again caught the mystic spirit of the night when the 
living force of Islam had flamed for a second before my 
eyes. 

Yusuf proved an excellent guide to Jaghabub. With 
intense pride he took us through the maze of college 
buildings, pointing out the house of each of the Senussi, 
Sidi Rida, Sidi Idris, Sayed Ahmed Sherif, Sayed Hilal 
and Sayed Safi ed Din, which make a massive block 
round the white qubba. In the big open square, where 


THE END OF THE JOURNEY 299 


the pupils of the zawia lodge, he announced, “We each 
of us have a house here. Amar has one. I have one. 
We can come back whenever we like. It is our own 
country.” Thus the zawias hold their pupils long after 
they have gone out to the cities and deserts. The portly 
ekhwan, the prosperous merchant, the Beduin sheikh or 
the wandering scribe may turn into the zawia where he 
has been educated, sure of finding a room and a welcome. 
Even the chance traveller may claim the three days’ 
hospitality of the Senussi and the poorer he is the more 
generous it will be. 

We spent two days in the high tower above the 
square, talking simply about simple things with the 
ekhwan, doctoring some of the students with pathetically 
inadequate remedies, exchanging the gossip of Kufara 
for that of Egypt with a few west-bound merchants. 
Then we set out on the last stage of our journey, deter¬ 
mining that for once we would travel slowly and peace¬ 
fully, grazing the camels as we went, riding a little by 
night for the sheer joy of the stars and barraking to 
make mint tea wherever a haita tempted us with its 
wood and shade. 

Fate must have laughed in her sleeve, but no echo 
of her mirth reached us as we loaded our four camels 
inside the zawia walls or paused beyond the first gherd 
while Sidi Hussein said the “Fatha.” I only realised 
that this was the last Arabic blessing that would attend 
my journey and suddenly I felt heartsick for the land 
I was leaving. The white, clustered walls, the white 
qubba behind, stood for the effort we had made, the 
object we had struggled for, far more than Kufara 
itself had ever done. Mohammed was really broken 
down by the journey and unable to come on with us, 
so, with this little land of hope and fear, success and 
failure, with these winter months of high-pitched excite- 


300 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


ment and tense endurance, we were losing a friend! An 
odd pain possessed me as we finally parted in fine, 
whirling sand and a wind which blew his jerd wildly 
about his face and when Yusuf said complacently, 
“The Sitt Khadija is happy. She will be in her own 
country soon,” I knew the desert had won after all. 
Those who are initiated into her secrets are for ever 
held in her thrall. I think my voice was rather wobbly 
as I answered, “No, no, I am sad because I am leaving 
the Senussi country behind!” So quick is Arab 
sympathy, so responsive is their instinct, that Yusuf’s 
face reflected my woful expression. “My heart was 
touched,” he confided to Amar. “I would have wept 
with the Sitt Khadija because she has many feelings.” 

There was a strong north-west wind that day, but 
it was behind us, so we rode slowly and placidly through 
the distorted country of sand and shale that lies east 
of Jaghabub. I do not know whether sportive giants 
dig for treasure or young gods build play castles and 
entrenchments in that desolate land, but on every side 
rise fantastic shapes of wind-blown sand. Reddish layers 
drip over polished white bases that look like chalk. 
Ridge after ridge of storm-polished gherds shut one 
into a maze of strange hillocks that give way occasionally 
to welcome green of hatias. The retinue had shrunk to 
three, Yusuf, Amar and a new guide, one Abu Bekr 
Manfi, who looked exactly like the wicked Caliph in 
Dulac’s illustrations to the Arabian Nights, for he had 
a huge beaked nose which, under an immense loosely 
rolled turban, curved to meet his pointed beard and 
nut-cracker jaw. His curious eyes were for ever asking 
questions, but his dialect was almost beyond my 
comprehension. 

We proceeded very slowly because all the camels 
were tired and the retinue had surreptitiously added to 


THE END OF THE JOURNEY 801 

their loads immense earthenware jars to fill with oil at 
Siwa, but it did not matter, for this was a friendly 
desert, generous of her wood and water. We halted 
at El Amra, where the Mahdi had built two great 
cisterns some fifty feet long with domed roofs, through 
holes in which the water drips into the immense chamber 
below. Abu Bekr made tea with a swiftness suggesting 
that his Caliph ancestor had bequeathed to him the 
services of his familiar genii. Then we proceeded slowly, 
walking and riding alternately another 12 kilometres to 
Maktuh, where we turned the weary camels loose to 
graze and cooked our rice and “asida” respectively under 
a delightfully sweet-scented bush, while inquisitive black¬ 
birds with impertinent white patches over their bills 
hopped cheerfully around us. In red mist of sunset we 
started to reload, noticing that Abu Bekr carefully 
joined his “Asr,” “Fagr” and “Aisha” prayers into 
one unending stream in order to avoid having to do any 
work. 

A golden crescent lighted a white world as we left 
the hatia, labouring through the sabakha with great 
dunes looming on our right. I felt infinitely at peace 
in the shimmering, silvery stillness, the silence only 
broken by the soft pad-padding of the camels or Yusuf’s 
sudden wailing chant in praise of his beloved qubba, 
“white as the breast of a virgin.” The desert was in 
her most magical mood and I longed to turn south 
again and ride back into her bourneless country by the 
pale light of Jedi and Suhail. Then a strange murmur¬ 
ing sound arose in the dunes. It was as if a great wind 
bore the humming of a myriad monstrous bees. “The 
jinns are awake to-night!” said Yusuf fearfully. 
“Something evil will befall us. They are making a 
great noise in the sands!” I laughed at him and 
wondered if it were the throb of the breeze reverberating 


302 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


in the empty oil jars or if we were so near civilisation 
that an aeroplane had become a possibility. Then I 
remembered the desert drums of the French Sahara, for 
which no human fingers are responsible, and I wondered 
if, when one is very near akin to the Spirit of the Earth, 
one can hear the beat of her pulse. 

I turned on my big blond beast to ask Hassanein 
what he thought of the strange throbbing and instead 
of a crouched figure swaying monotonously on the grey 
Tebu, I saw a heap pick itself briskly from a patch of 
stones. “I think I have broken my collar-bone!” 
said a calm, laughing voice. “You wouldn’t say it 
quite so happily if you had!” I grunted, with memories' 
of hunting falls. “Perhaps not,” replied my companion, 
clambering back on to his camel. “All the same, 
there’s a most enormous lump. I believe I have.” 
And, though the voice still laughed, I grasped suddenly 
that it spoke disastrous truth! Camels were roughly 
barraked. Yusuf, for once bereft of speech, stumbled 
round, mutely offering most of his clothing as bandages. 
Abu Bekr, practical and brutal, wished to massage the 
lump as a sprain. I blessed for once the cumbersome 
length of the red hezaam. Bandages and sling it made 
at the same time and left an end over to fix a cushion 
under the armpit. 

All the time Hassanein was cheerfully explaining 
that the Tebu had thoughtlessly stumbled just as he was 
practising gymnastics, in order to extract a blanket from 
some mysterious recess among the baggage sacks, but 
we gave him short time for talk. We hustled him into 
a roughly made “basoor” and a pitiful little procession 
started off again, for suddenly the silver night had 
become desperately lonely, the drumming of the jinns 
sinister and the trail to Siwa, with half-exhausted camels 
and none too willing men, a thing of intolerable length. 


THE END OF THE JOURNEY 


308 


Thereafter our journey was just the chronicle of a 
very gallant feat of endurance. The golden sickle died 
behind us, but we plodded on. No longer were the 
85 kilometres in front of us a friendly desert to be 
traversed slowly and comfortably. At all costs we must 
reach Siwa and a doctor before the fractured bone broke 
the skin and set up mortification. The greatest difficulty 
was the retinue, who could not believe that the “Ahmed 
Bey” who laughed at them and urged them to sing 
could really have a broken hone. “It is a little 
sprain,” said Yusuf hopefully. “We will make a fire 
and massage it with oil of jasmine and it will be cured.” 
But I drove them on unrelenting till the rough ground 
west of Kusebeya made the camels stumble hopelessly 
in the darkness. I hated Abu Bekr when he calmly 
lit himself a fire and, warming his feet at the blaze, 
started chanting the Koran in a loud, exasperating voice. 

We could not get the unfortunate Hassanein into a 
flea-bag and no position we could devise could give rest 
to his shoulder, already jarred by the unending bumps 
and jerks of a camel’s pace. All we could do was to 
pile our cushions and blankets under him and cover him 
with the sleeping-sacks. Yusuf toiled nobly and, in the 
cold night which followed, during which Abu Bekr was 
the only one who slept, I heard him come shuffling 
several times to see if he could help. 

Never was a dawn more welcome, but as we helped 
my infinitely plucky companion on to a camel, waiting 
for no breakfast except coffee, made overnight in a 
thermos flask, I wondered whether human endurance 
could last out another forty-eight hours like this. The 
shoulder was already inflamed and the ground terribly 
rough, so that every few minutes the rider was jerked and 
jolted painfully. We passed the blue salt lake of Kuse¬ 
beya, a strip of colour on our left, and clambered down 


304 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


into the hatia, where the camels had to be turned loose to 
graze. We found a palm clump and cooked rice in 
the shade and Hassanein’s smile grew a little more 
twisted, in spite of my best efforts with bandages and 
sling. 

I would hardly allow the retinue to finish their noisy 
gulps of tea. “What does it matter if you are tired?” 
I flung at them. “That bone has got to be set to¬ 
morrow night!” “Three and a half days from 
Jaghabub to Siwa,” said Yusuf mournfully. “We 
would walk with you all night, but the camels will not 
go.” “They have got to go,” said I sternly, but I knew 
that our animals were very nearly exhausted. They 
had come more than a thousand miles, with periods of 
overloading and insufficient food. For nearly three 
months they had had no rest but the eight days at 
Kufara, and we had always hoped to leave them at 
Jaghabub to recuperate. Unluckily, there was not a 
single beast of burden in the zawia to take us on, so 
we had to pick out the four least weary camels and 
trust once more to luck. 

That afternoon was one of the longest I have ever 
spent. When I saw Hassanein put away his compass I < 
knew that things must be pretty bad and the fantastic 
hills were a tortuous maze through which we wandered 
eternally! Yusuf pointed out the “Grid,” a group of 
three gherds which might serve to support the cooking- 
pots of the largest giants. “We shall camp at Zaizeb,” 
he said and I prayed that it might be near. “Allah 
alone knows how far it is to that hatia,” said Abu Bekr 
placidly as we mounted, it seemed to me for the 
millionth time, a little rise and saw nothing below but 
reddish sand over hard, white blocks, in monstrous forms 
that suggested beasts and edibles to the fanciful Amar. 
Hassanein was the last of us to fall into silence. 





MV LONELY PICNIC IN KUFAIIA WAI)I 



A GLASS OF MINT TEA ON THE WAY TO S1WA 













































































•• 



































' 








305 


THE END OF THE JOURNEY 

The sun set without showing any signs of the 
promised hatia. The camels were obviously incapable 
of going much farther. Yusuf said pathetically, “I 
have walked seventeen days from Kufara on these legs 
and now they are very tired.” But Hassanein said 
nothing. Only when I climbed a huge mound of stones 
beside the track and saw the hope in his face as I 
looked across a great expanse of broken country I could 
not resist the impulse. “I see the hatia,” I lied. “It 
is quite near.” Darkness came as we jolted down into 
the wadi and every rolling stone, every sudden drop 
made me realise that two more days of this would be 
impossible. The swift appearance of the hatia almost 
justified my impulsive speech, but it was very dark as 
we barraked behind a convenient mound. I insisted 
that food should be eaten quickly and that we should 
then walk till the moon went down. The retinue 
expostulated violently. “You must leave some of the 
loads,” said Yusuf; and Abu Bekr so firmly ensconced 
himself in his blankets that I thought a concerted 
mutiny was probable. However, after a forlorn meal, 
for even my companion’s unfaltering courage could not 
hide his pain, I literally pushed the retinue on to their 
feet and, by dint of doing half the loading myself, 
forced them to prepare for another march. 

Hassanein dragged himself mutely on to the grey 
Tebu, still far the strongest of the hamla, but when I 
saw the party crawl away from our camping ground I 
knew that I could not force the pace any longer. On 
the morrow I would put up the tent and leave my com¬ 
panion there with Yusuf and Amar. I would take the 
Kufara camel and Abu Bekr who, for love of heavy 
mejidies, would guide me in one long march to Siwa, 
from where I could bring back help. “This is the end,” 
I said to Yusuf. “Pull up your energy I” And then, 


300 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


Hamdulillah, a dog ran out barking and figures loomed 
in the shadows. “Friend,” came the answer to Amar’s 
challenge. “No friend walks thus at night,” said Yusuf 
decidedly and to me, “Get ready your revolvers!” 
But I had heard an English voice! Rushing forward, 
unheeding of ungirdled barracan, of Moslem custom, of 
anything in the world but that the hands of my own 
countrymen could help as no other hands in the world, I 
met a Camel Corps Patrol which the Frontier Districts 
Administration had sent out to look for us! 

I have absolutely no recollection of what I said to 
the calm-eyed shadow in khaki who drew away from the 
dark figures in close-rolled turbans and the precise, 
double row of neatly barraked he jin, but, oh! the 
efficiency of England! I have railed at her so often and 
with so much justice. I have run away from her powers- 
that-be when I have wanted to penetrate to particularly 
unauthorised and impossible places, but that night I 
valued her as never before! In so few minutes the 
situation changed. Did I relinquish my command or 
was it unconsciously taken from me by Beneficent Khaki? 
I do not know, but the retinue’s grumbling sank to awed 
silence at the power which had leaped to meet us. The 
hamla were driven on to camp at a given place and the 
swiftest he jin went back to Siwa, untiring through the 
night, to fetch a doctor and car to Girba, only half a 
day ahead. 

Fate had played against the kindness of an English 
Governor then at Siwa, for the rescue party had camped 
but a couple of hundred yards from our distressed dinner, 
and she had lost, because the wandering dog had heralded 
our approach. Otherwise we might have drifted on into 
the night. 

Almost before I realised how life had changed I 
found myself on a white trotting camel with a specially 


THE END OF THE JOURNEY 


307 


immense sheepskin testifying to very gracious fore¬ 
thought. Beneficent Khaki was beside me and, behind 
me, a swiftly broken camp, the still-glowing ashes of the 
fire and then a line of dark figures on the slender he jin 
of the Camel Corps. It seemed so small a thing now, 
the distance that lay before us, and even the long trail 
behind us was suddenly of no account, for we talked of 
world wars, of nations still in the melting-pot. How 
eagerly I asked for news! Governments had fallen, a 
new republic had sprung into existence, a famous general 
had vanished with a great army! Long before I had 
filled the gap those desert months had made in newspaper 
knowledge, we had overtaken the hamla and Beneficent 
Khaki was looking out for convenient shelter. “The lee- 
side of a gherd, I think,” he said firmly. “That big 
fellow over there will do,” and he wheeled his tall, white 
beast sharply under the hill. 

So swiftly the camp was made! I felt ashamed of our 
clumsy loading, our lumbering halts, when I saw the ease 
with which each tall he jin barraked in its own place in 
the double line. “What a good thing it is to belong to 
such a Government,” said Yusuf enviously. “What fine 
camels and what a good turn-out!” There was no 
grumbling at making a zariba that night. A meek retinue 
bestirred themselves mightily to little effect, but Benefi¬ 
cent Khaki took charge. Marvellously soon, it seemed, 
Hassanein was tucked into a wondrous flea-bag, complete 
with sheets, a real pillow propped up his shoulder, a 
thoroughly wind-proof zariba shut out northern blasts, a 
fire blazed cheerfully before us and, as I tugged my own 
roll of bedding nearer its happy crackling, a voice said 
reproachfully: “You mustn’t do that! Do remember 
that you’ve got lots of people to do it for you 
now!” I smiled, for I had almost forgotten the ways 
of England. 


308 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


“Hot tea,” said the same voice. “With milk.” 
And I noticed an enormous kettle on the fire. Mugs 
came from a magic picnic basket filled with all sorts of 
good things. Rugs and sheepskins appeared from the 
spare camels brought for our riding. Was there anything 
the Frontier Districts Administration could not produce 
at a second’s notice? Then someone said “Sausages” 
and even Hassanein was enthusiastic. We cooked them 
with tomato sauce on the scented brushwood fire and ate 
them steaming hot, with white new bread from the hos¬ 
pitable basket and then—how we talked! Beneficent 
Khaki smoked a pipe and we, blissfully indifferent to 
the stern Senussi laws which had forbidden us tobacco 
for so many weeks, saw visions and dreamed dreams in 
the blue haze of our first cigarettes. 

It must have been nearly 2 a.m. when we finally 
buried ourselves in our flea-bags, but no one slept— 
Hassanein because of his broken bone, Beneficent Khaki 
because he had been too recklessly generous in the dis¬ 
posal of his own blankets and I because the Great 
Adventure was ended! 

I lay on my back and looked at the stars, weighing 
the balance of success and failure and, suddenly, I felt 
that this was not really the end. Some time, somehow, 
I knew not where or when, but most assuredly when 
Allah willed, I should come back to the deserts and the 
strange, uncharted tracks would bear my camels south 
again. 

For those who like to know the end of every story be 
it said that the efficiency which had taken possession of 
us did not relinquish its grasp until it had deposited us, 
bewildered and hopelessly out of place, in the hotel at 
Alexandria, after a 430-mile motor drive from Siwa. It 
was complete to the last detail. 

Hot tea steamed beside our flea-bags before the dawn 


309 


THE END OF THE JOURNEY 

brought us out of them. At a pace which would have 
made light of the long trail to Zakar we trotted on to 
the hatia at Girba, where, under the largest palm, waited 
a doctor complete with aluminium fittings. The cars 
arrived exactly at the correct moment. The road to Siwa 
was unexpectedly smooth and oh! how hot and plentiful 
was the bath water at the rest house! 

There I discarded my worn barracan with a sigh of 
relief, yet, as I wandered through the honeycomb of old 
Siwa, with its close-piled houses one upon another and 
its labyrinth of dark tunnels that serve as streets, I was 
ashamed before the gaze of Arabs. It seemed to me 
intolerable that a Moslem should see my face unveiled. 
Instinctively I pulled at my hat brim and my flying cloak, 
for, curiously, the soul of this people had become mine 
and I resented the lack of privacy till I remembered that 
the Sitt Khadija was no more! 

Once again we spent a night in the desert, but this 
time in the shelter of a tarpaulin hung between two 
F.D.A. cars, which were to take us to Matruh, and it 
was a tame desert with friendly caravans passing and 
newly sunk cisterns to prove the enterprise of its 
Governor. Yet the silvery moon was the same that turned 
the Hawari sands to molten amber, scarred with the 
sapphire of her palms, and I crept beyond the shelter and 
the comfort to watch the setting of the star that Moham¬ 
med had always wanted to “put out!” 

“Warm congratulations on your success,” said 
generous-hearted officialdom at Siwa and Matruh and 
the more than kindly welcome was our best reward. 

“So you have been to Kufara,” said a civilian on the 
coast. “It is an island, isn’t it, but I always thought 
it was spelt Korfu!” 

Then I met a pretty Englishwoman. The stripe in 
her skirt matched her French sweater and faint scent 


810 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


of “Mille Fleurs” drifted from her rose-petal skin. My 
nails were broken, my nose blistered. My only European 
dress had been hidden for months at the bottom of a 
sack of bully beef tins, yet was I sincere when I echoed 
Hassanein’s vicious “Civilisation, Hamdulillah!” as he 
stuffed his kufiya into a corner of his knapsack and pulled 
out a fez! 


Daba-a, February 19, 1921. 


























































































































































































































































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\ 


NOTES TO ROUTE HISTORY 

Note A.—The three little hillocks of sand, Kelb el Metemma, 
Hameimat and el Mazul, should not be taken as definite land¬ 
marks, as there is much discussion among the Beduin as to their 
exact identity and situation. 

Note B.—The Oasis of Jedabia is inhabited by the Mogharba 
tribe, with a few Zouias, that of Aujela by the Aujela tribe, that of 
Jalo by the Mojabra, and those of Taiserbo, Buseima, Ribiana and 
Kufara by the Zouia with a sprinkling of Tebu. At Zuetina are 
the Fawakher, and at Solluk and Ghemines the Auwaghir. 

It is estimated that the population of Kufara and Buseima is 
about 3,000 Zouias and 100 to 150 Tebu. In addition to these 
there are large numbers of negroid slaves from Wadai and Darfur. 
In Jaghabub there is no tribe. It is a religious centre of the 
Senussi ekhwan. 

Note C.—The mileage recorded is the actual distance 
marched. Occasionally in dune country it was necessary to make 
a small detour which would* reduce the distance traversed in a 
straight line on the map. 

Note D.—Our failure to reach Taiserbo on the southern 
journey was partly due to the fact that we failed to allow for the 
variation between the Magnetic North and the True North, while 
we probably over-estimated the distance marched. At the same 
time, as may be seen by comparing the map published in this book 
and the 2 million Egyptian Survey printed 1912 and reprinted 
1915, we walked through the green cultivated area and’ passed 
Kusebeya as charted in the latter, without finding any signs of 
Taiserbo. Our compass traverse showed an error of 20 miles in 
the final closure on Jaghabub. The total distance travelled, ex¬ 
clusive of the ride round Kufara Wadi, was 1,009 miles, so the 
error of 2 per cent, was distributed throughout the whole journey. 


322 


APPENDIX B 


NOTES ON THE HISTORY OF THE SENUSSI 
CONFRATERNITY 

Sidi Mohammed ben Ali es Senussi was born near Mastaghanem 
in Algeria in 1787. He was of the Ulad Sidi Yusuf, Berbers, yet 
descendants of the prophet through Idris, founder of the Moroc¬ 
can dynasty. It is generally supposed that the grandfather of 
Ben Ali derived his name from a holy man who died in 1490—Sidi 
Mohammed ben Yusuf ben Amr ben Shat es Senussi of the Beni 
Snus—but it has also been* stated that it referred merely to the 
Gebel Snus where his family lived. Mohammed Ben Ali, having 
quarrelled seriously with a cousin, went to Fez in 1821 and studied 
at the famous Karuim University. Morocco in those days was the 
birthplace of many religious confraternities and, during the seven 
or eight years he spent there, Ben Ali joined those of el Gadria, 
esh Shadelia, ej Yazula, en Nasria and ed Dergania, while at the 
same time he seems to have won some renown as an ascetic who 
wished to amalgamate every Moslem sect on a basis of a pure and 
simple Islam in strict conformity with the teachings of the Koran, 
but shorn of every modern digression and addition. 

Mulai Suleiman, Emperor of Morocco, offered him preferment, 
but he refused it and, returning to Algeria in 1829, he taught 
grammar and jurisprudence at Laquat. At Mesad he married a 
woman of the Beni Tuaba, a gift from the faithful, which would 
prove that already he had gathered a certain number of disciples. 
He left Algeria on the eve of the French occupation and, undoubt¬ 
edly, his fanaticism was strengthened by the sight of his native 
land in the hands of unbelievers, for, though technically Turks and 
Christians were equally condemned by his teaching, he reserved his 
fiercest hatred for the latter. 

Having divorced his wife at Bu Saada, he wandered along 
North Africa preaching his mystic doctrine of a purer Islam till 
he reached Cairo, where he proposed to continue his studies at the 
El Azhar University. Here, however, his asceticism, intolerance 
and hatred of innovation made him many enemies among the 

323 


324 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


Ulema and, in 1831, his teachings were solemnly condemned by the 
Sheikh el Hamish, a noted Alim. 

He therefore went on to Mecca where he became the pupil of a 
famous theologian, Sidi Ahmed ibn Idris el Fasi, head of the con¬ 
fraternity of El Khadria, of much influence in Morocco. Here at 
last Sidi Ben Ali found a mind akin to his own. Master and pupil 
travelled together to the Yemen, during which missionary journey 
the former died, having left instructions to his followers to trans¬ 
fer their allegiance to his favourite pupil, who thus found himself 
the head of a definite group of fervent ascetics—the Tarika el Mo- 
hammedia. His teachings met with their greatest success among 
the Beduin tribes of the Hejaz and the Yemen, for many of the 
Meccan townsmen preferred to follow another pupil of Idris, one 
Mohammed ibn Osman el Mirgani, Sherif. Sidi Ben Ali, therefore, 
having founded his first zawia at Jebel Abu Cobais made a second 
journey to the Yemen where he came in touch with the Wahabis, a 
puritanical confraternity founded in 1746. At all times his hatred 
of Christian and Turks alike, his opposition to the modern spirit 
of compromise, appealed more to the nomad tribesmen than to the 
settled inhabitants of the towns. 

Therefore, when the opposition of the older sheikhs, who ex¬ 
pressed doubt as to his orthodoxy, forced him to leave Mecca in 
1838, he definitely formulated his policy of keeping away from 
centres of civilisation, and thus avoiding contact with those coun¬ 
tries which were under European rule or protection, while uniting 
the various Beduin tribes in an immense religious organisation 
which should eventually include the negroid races of the south 
and stretch in an unbroken line from the Hejaz to the Tuat Oases. 

Passing through Cairo, he went to Siwa, where he was ill with 
fever for eight months, to Jalo, and to Skekherra where he first 
came in touch with the Zouias, who were destined to play such a 
large part in his scheme for the regeneration and the unity of 
Islam, for this warrior tribe was feared throughout the Northern 
Deserts, and, having conquered the Tebu in the oases of Taiserbo 
and Kufara, they were a possible link with Darfur and Wadai. 

In 1844 the first African zawia was founded at El Beda in the 
Gebel Akhdar, where Ben Ali’s eldest son was born the following 
year, and from it the ekhwan (brothers of the Order) went 
throughout Cyrenaica and Tripoli, the Fezzan and even as far 
south as Tibesti, founding zawias and preaching the doctrine of 
their leader. 


APPENDICES 


325 


The Senussi are sometimes wrongly spoken of as a sect, but at 
no time have they been other than an ascetic confraternity, op¬ 
posed to all forms of luxury or of ceremonial, intolerant of any 
intercourse with Jew, Christian or infidel. Since spiritual and 
temporal power in Islam are inevitably synonymous, Sidi Ben Ali, 
towards the end of his life, was looked upon as the actual ruler of 
the Cyrenaican hinterland, but his aim probably did not go fur¬ 
ther than a Moslem Freemasonry, primarily religious but depend¬ 
ing for its wealth and political power on the mercantile organisa¬ 
tion of the ancient Saharan trade-routes by which the commerce 
of the Sudan came north to the Mediterranean ports. Thus his 
zawias were always built at strategic points where passing cara¬ 
vans must stop at the wells. While camels were watered, the 
merchants were entertained by the Senussi sheikh, who was thus 
afforded the best possible opportunity for propaganda. The 
zawias, which were colleges and marts at the same time, gave three 
days* hospitality free to any traveller and, gradually, as the fame 
of the Senussi spread among the tribes, ekhwan were appointed to 
accompany the more important caravans to prevent attacks from 
Beduins. Thus the doctrine of Sidi lien Ali was eventually car¬ 
ried to Kanem and Borku, to the Comalis and Senegambia with¬ 
out the existence of any written dogma. There is, in fact, no spe¬ 
cial Senussi ritual, nor have I heard any unusual prayer or rite 
used in their mosques. The use of gold or jewels or any form of 
luxury was forbidden, as were tobacco and alcoholic stimulants. 

The fundamental ideas of the brotherhood were equality, sim¬ 
plicity, and complete detachment from all outside influence. The 
sheikhs of the zawias had considerable temporal power because 
Sidi Ben Ali’s appeal was primarily to the Beduin, who were en¬ 
couraged to bring their disputes to be settled at the nearest zawia, 
but they were also responsible for education and to this day a 
diploma of learning from Jaghabub or Kufara is highly valued in 
the Moslem world. 

In 1852 Sidi Ben Ali returned to Mecca where he was able to 
disseminate his doctrine among pilgrims from all parts of the 
world and where he met Agil the Zouia. 

II 

Having founded six zawias in the Hejaz and Jedda, he re¬ 
turned via Egypt and Akaba to Ezziat, where he remained till 


326 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


1855; thence he sent ekhwan to build the zawia at Jaghabub. 
Doubtless this was a precautionary measure in accordance with 
his habitual policy of avoiding any open conflict with existing gov¬ 
ernments, for Turkey was growing nervous with regard to the 
Senussi power in North Africa. At first she had supported the 
order, according it important privileges such as grants of land 
and exemption of the zawias from taxation. Sidi Ben Ali, how¬ 
ever, was not to be won over from his condemnation of Turkish 
unorthodoxy and in 1852 he had excommunicated the Sultan. It 
was therefore obviously necessary for him to remove his headquar¬ 
ters from the territory nominally under Ottoman jurisdiction. 
He went to Jaghabub in 1856 and, according to Duveyrier, he 
made the small and uninteresting oasis into an important centre 
of political and mercantile activity. A deputation of Zouias head¬ 
ed by Abdel Kerim Helayig, Jaballa and Agil visited him there 
offering the allegiance of the tribe. Sidi Ben Ali must have real¬ 
ised the strategical importance of Kufara as a base of propa¬ 
ganda from the Sudan to Lake Chad, for he instantly despatched 
four ekhwan to disseminate his doctrines throughout the four 
oases. The letter written at this time to Wajanga, of which the 
interpretation is given in Appendix D, page 338, is typical of 
his missionary methods. 

It is probable that Sidi Ben Ali contemplated a further with¬ 
drawal from the zone of Turkish activity for he caused two zawias 
to be built near Ghadames, but his death in 1859 occurred sudden¬ 
ly at Jaghabub. 

His two sons Mohammed el Mahdi and Mohammed es Sherif 
were aged 16 and 14 respectively, so most of the ekhwan were in 
favour of electing Sidi Abed el Ali Ibn Ahmed Ibn Idris el Fasi as 
their head. A decision was finally made in favour of Mohammed 
el Mahdi because it was remembered that Sidi Ben Ali had once 
bidden his eldest son resume his shoes upon entering a mosque, 
himself handing the boy the slippers he had put off, which menial 
act was interpreted to mean that he had already chosen him as his 
successor. 

An ancient prophecy foretold that the Mahdi who would re¬ 
conquer the world for Islam would attain his majority on the first 
day of Moharram in 1300 Hegire, having been born of parents 
named Mohammed and Fatma, and having spent several years in 
seclusion. 

On November 12, 1882, after a minority spent in the charge 


APPENDICES 


327 


of Sidi Omran and Sidi Ahmed er Rifi, who afterwards remained 
his most valued counsellor, the son of Sidi Ben Ali fulfilled all 
these conditions. 

At this time there were 38 zawias in Cyrenaica and Syrte and 
18 in Tripolitania. Others were sown broadcast through Algeria, 
Tunis and Fezzan, but in Morocco there were only five, probably 
due to the opposition of another great religious order, the Moulai 
Tayyeb. By way of the Western Sahara and Timbuctoo, where 
they built a zawia, the Senussi ekhwan had penetrated to Senegal 
where they must have found fertile soil for their doctrine, as in 
1879 Senegalise pilgrims travelled 4,500 kilometres across Africa 
to visit the Mahdi at Jaghabub and returned to their own coun¬ 
try without troubling to continue the journey to Mecca. From 
Air to Gonda, from Lake Chad to Wajanga, as well as among 
the three millions in Wadai, it may be supposed that the Senussi 
influence was preponderant. 

The Sultan of Wadai had been wont to entrust his north-bound 
caravans to the care of his “brother and fellow-ruler, 5 * Sidi Ben 
Ali, and immense gifts of slaves and ivory cemented the friendship 
between the two potentates. 

In Egypt the influence of the confraternity was never very 
strong, though, in 1882, there were 17 zawias within its borders, 
exclusive of the mother house of Jaghabub. At the same date 
there were zawias at Jedda, Mecca and Taif and at least nine 
others in the Hejaz and Yemen. Duveyrier estimates the number 
of brothers of the Order as anything between 1,500,000 and 3,- 
000,000 at the time when the Mahdi’s minority was ended. Each 
of these ekhwan was a more or less active missionary agent and 
each was ready, at the bidding of his superiors, to turn himself 
into a soldier to fight the hated infidel. Thus the power given 
into the hands of the young Mohammed el Mahdi was great. He 
might have declared a Holy War and had as amazing and mete¬ 
oric a career as the humble carpenter of Abba Island in the Nile, 
but he preferred to strengthen his position at Jaghabub and to 
carry on his father 5 s policy of holding aloof from centres of 
civilisation and avoiding all open rupture with European Powers. 
Doubtless Sidi Ben Ali was responsible for the stubborn resist¬ 
ance of Laghuat in Algeria in 1852 under Mohammed ibn Abed- 
Allah, who had joined the confraternity on a pilgrimage to Mecca, 
as well as for much of the oppositon to the French occupation of 
Nigeria and Senegambia. It is possible that the Mahdi had in 


328 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


view, if not an empire, at least a sphere of influence among the 
negroid races between Wadai and Lake Chad, for which reason 
he was prepared secretly to oppose the French penetration of 
Nigeria, but, in his withdrawal to Kufara in 1894, is seen his de¬ 
termination to avoid any declared hostility. 

Mohammed el Mahdi was the great figure of the confraternity, 
and under his rule the Senussi attained the zenith of their power. 
Since the acceptance of his tenets meant the payment of tithes, 
the leader of the confraternity had by this time considerable 
wealth at his disposal. Having established a profitable trade in 
slaves and arms between south and north, he also possessed the 
nucleus of a negroid army, yet the Mahdi aimed at peaceful pene¬ 
tration rather than at military occupation. His zawias were neu¬ 
tral meeting-places where difficulties—tribal, commercial, legal or 
religious—could be settled by an unbiassed authority. His ekh- 
wan were judges as well as missionaries. They defined tribal areas, 
settled water and grazing rights, as well as meting out the justice 
of the Koran to those who infringed the code of Islam. 

In view of the undoubted influence and prestige of such a con¬ 
fraternity, it is not to be wondered at that wholly exaggerated 
ideas of its importance were brought to Europe by rare travellers 
who, impressed by the dangers they had escaped from, overlooked 
the fact that the Order must necessarily lack cohesion, dissemin¬ 
ated as it was through countries differing in race, tongue, custom 
and form of government and hemmed in on every side by gradu¬ 
ally encroaching European Powers. 

During the 13 years of his rule at Jaghabub the Mahdi reso¬ 
lutely held aloof from the spirit of revolt which animated the 
Moslem world. 

When the Sudanese Mahdi sent a deputation to ask for his 
help in driving the English from Egypt in 1884, he replied, “Tell 
your master we have nothing to do with him. He must write to 
us no more for his way is wrong. We cannot reply to his letter.” 

His move to Kufara isolated him in an almost impregnable 
position where he could command the trade routes of half a con¬ 
tinent. His chief counsellors were his old tutor Ahmed er Rifi, 
his brother Mohammed es Sherif and Mohammed ibn Hassan el 
Baskari. His nephew Mohammed el Abed was left as wakil at 
Jaghabub. 

Kufara under the rule of the Zouias had been the most noted 
centre of brigandage in the Sahara. Sidi el Mahdi substituted a 


APPENDICES 329 

regular system of Customs duty on all merchandise passing 
through. 

He built the towns of Jof and Taj, each with a large zawia, 
and in the course of a few years developed the oasis into an en¬ 
tirely self-supporting centre of civilisation and the headquarters 
of the confraternity, visited by large numbers of “Brethren” from 
all parts of Africa. 

Nevertheless he had to acknowledge that, temporarily, the 
north offered no further field of expansion for his teachings. Any 
trial of strength with France, Turkey or Egypt could have but 
one issue. Therefore he concentrated his energies on Borku, Wa- 
dai, Kanem and the Western Sudan. He sent his ekhwan through¬ 
out these districts with instructions to settle disputes between the 
tribes, thus inducing them to acknowledge Senussi authority and 
to build zawias in such places as would control the wells and mar¬ 
kets. Intending to follow in thd wake of his disciples, he left 
Kufara in August, 1899, after receiving a deputation from Ali 
Dinar expressing the Sultan of Darfur’s devotion to the Order. 
After 63 days’ travelling by slow stages, he reached Ghiru, from 
where he directed the opposition to French penetration from Lake 
Chad. 

This step was notable because it was in direct contravention 
of the policy initiated by Sidi Ben Ali and previously adhered to 
by the Mahdi. 

At no time a military power, the Senussi depended for their 
wealth and influence on the stability of their mercantile organisa¬ 
tion. 

The French were the first Europeans who seriously imperilled 
their profitable trade in slaves and arms. The former merchandise 
came from Constantinople and was disembarked at Tobruk or 
Benghazi. 

Since its principal markets were between Darfur and Kanem 
it was essential that France should not advance farther towards 
Wadai. Tuareg rebels, flying north from French Nigeria, came 
in touch with Sidi el Barrani at Kanem, were converted to the 
Senussi tenets, and joined with Arabs from Kufara in fortifying 
the zawia at Bir Allahi. 

The victory of Zugiba on August 23,1901, relieved the French 
from further pressure from the south and they were able to es¬ 
tablish themselves firmly at Massacori. An advance party, how¬ 
ever, was attacked and defeated by Tuaregs from Bir Allahi and 


330 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


this zawia remained a centre of opposition until it was taken in 
January, 1902. 

By this open aggression Sidi el Mahdi apparently pledged 
himself to a definite campaign against France, yet he had no reg¬ 
ular army. His policy was to unite the tribes against the Chris¬ 
tian, himself supplying arms, ammunition and money. Borku was 
virtually under his rule. He had a wazir in Wadai and zawias in 
Nigeria and the Cameroons. 

Mohammed es Sunni, one of the most famous Senussi ekhwan, 
who had undertaken many missionary journeys in the Sudan and 
West Africa, was adviser to the Sultan of Wadai, for whom he 
had obtained the financial support of the Tripolitanian merchants. 

The sudden death of the Mahdi, however, on June 1st, 1002, 
removed the motive force of the order. As his sons were then 
minors at school at Jaghabub, his nephew Sayed Ahmed es Sherif 
was nominated as his successor. 

The new Sheikh es Senussi remained at Ghiru, from where he 
continued to oppose the French advance, till a bad defeat in De¬ 
cember, 1902, decided him to retire to Kufara. 

For some years he moved his headquarters between this oasis 
and Jaghabub so that he was able to keep in touch with his north¬ 
ern zawias without relinquishing the hold gained by the Mahdi on 
the negroid races of the south. 

Since the Anglo-French Treaty of 1904 ceded the Zinder-Chad 
route to France, the advance of the latter power has inevitably 
involved the ebb of the Senussi influence throughout the occupied 
districts. 

The Ulad Suleiman tribes, who had been among the strongest 
adherents of the Mahdi, submitted in 1905. 

The following year Bilma was occupied in spite of determined 
attacks by Tuaregs and Kufara Arabs. 

In March, 1907, the principal zawia in Borku, Ain Malakka, 
was captured and its sheikh, Sidi el Barrani, the virtual ruler of 
Borku, killed. 

In June, 1909, Abeshe, the capital of Wadai, was entered. 

Turkish troops occupied Tibesti in May, 1910, and Borku in 
September, 1911, but were recalled at the outbreak of the Turco- 
Italian war in 1912, leaving the Senussi free to continue the prop¬ 
aganda that was finally put an end to by the French advance into 
Tibesti and Borku, in the winter of 1913-1914. 

Meanwhile, Cyrenaica and Tripoli having been acknowledged 


APPENDICES ^ 331 

an Italian sphere of influence, Sayed Ahmed was fully occupied in 
the north. 

When the Italians landed in Libya in 1911, there existed a 
kingdom within a kingdom and the Turks were only masters in 
name. They were almost as much despised as the Christians by 
the ascetic confraternity of Sidi Ben Ali, who held themselves 
entirely aloof from the Ottoman Government. 

Therefore when Sayed Ahmed definitely allied himself with 
Turkey, he departed from the fundamental principle of his Order. 
He was persuaded by Enver Pasha to allow the tribes to take part, 
under Turkish leadership, in the long-drawn-out guerilla warfare 
which was so successfully carried out that, in 1914, Italy was left 
in possession of the coast towns of Tripoli and Cyrenaica only, 
while the interior was in the hands of the Senussi. 

This material success was counter-balanced, however, by the 
dissolution of Senussi entity. The principle of religious detach¬ 
ment for which the Order had originally stood had disappeared 
and the confraternity had resolved itself into a political weapon in 
the hands of Turkey. From this standpoint it was but a short 
step to the declaration of war against Egypt. 

At no period was Sayed Ahmed really anti-British, because he 
knew that Britain had no interests to serve in Libya. Moreover, 
she facilitated his trade with Egypt, a vital point for the welfare of 
the Beduins, for the Cyrenaican ports were already closed to them. 

Mannismann and Nouri Pasha, respectively German and Turk¬ 
ish agents, provided arms, ammunition and money, while holding 
before the Senussi sheikh the idea that the Egyptian Beduins would 
all join him, and that he would be the ruler of Egypt, yet, in spite 
of Teuton organisation and of a widely preached Jehad, it is 
doubtful if the Senussi could ever have put in the field more than 
4,000 men. 

Sayed Ahmed established his headquarters at Bir Waer and 
the Egyptian Coastguards, under Mohammed Saleh, were per¬ 
suaded by religious fanaticism to join him. 

Jaafer Pasha, a keen and capable soldier, an Arab from Bagh¬ 
dad, trained in German methods, was in command of the Senussi 
troops. 

The Tara was sunk on November 5, .1915, and her crew sent as 
prisoners to the desert. 

Solium, under the command of Colonel Snow Bey, of the Egyp¬ 
tian Coastguards, was evacuated in the same month, and as the 


332 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 

garrison went down the coast in a cruiser, they could see Sidi 
Barrani in flames. 

British Headquarters were established at Mersa Matruh and in 
December the outlying garrisons were collected there. 

Colonel Snow Bey, whose name with that of Major Royle Bey 
is famous throughout the Western Desert, was shot in a reconnais¬ 
sance on November 11. 

On Christmas Eve the Senussi were defeated at Medwa and on 
December 29 at Jerawla, but the first decisive battle was at 
Halazin, where Sayed Ahmed had gathered his main force. 

On January 23 he was attacked with complete success, and 
forced to retreat precipitately towards Solium, leaving 700 dead 
on the field. 

A further victory on February 26 at Agazia resulted in the 
capture of Jaafer Pasha and the flight of Sayed Ahmed, with the 
subsequent opening of the road to Solium, which was occupied on 
March 14. 

The following day the Duke of Westminster made his famous 
dash to Bir Hakim on the Tobruk-Jaghabub route, some 60 miles 
inland, and 120 from Solium, to rescue the Tara prisoners. 

Sayed Ahmed retired through Siwa to Dakhla, while the re¬ 
maining portion of his force went to Baharia. Kharga was imme¬ 
diately evacuated by the British and then, with a successful army 
occupying the post, a beaten enemy practically cut off from all 
supplies in two isolated desert oases, a disaffected and half-starved 
Cyrenaica, heartily tired of its ruler’s policy and already turning 
to Mohammed Idris, whose pro-British attitude was obvious from 
the beginning, was initiated the scheme for fortifying Egypt at an 
expense of some 60 million sterling against a foe who numbered 
perhaps 2,000. 

The three armed camps of the Ulad Ali which lay behind the 
British line from Matruh were rapidly disposed of, but the whole 
summer of 1916 was spent in fortifying the line of the Nile Valley 
and in October the Senussi were driven out of Dakhla and Baharia 
by Camel Corps and Light Car Patrols. Sayed Ahmed retired 
through Farafra to Siwa, where he had left Mohammed Saleh in 
command. 

In February, 1917, after a sharp engagement at Girba, where, 
east of Munasib Pass, some 20 armoured cars sustained a 24 
hours’ enfilade from 800 Senussi hidden in the rocks above them, 
the latter were finally driven out of Egyptian Territory. 


APPENDICES 


333 


For 18 months Sayed Ahmed spent a precarious existence in 
the hinterland of Cyrenaica and, in August, 1918, retired to Con¬ 
stantinople by submarine. 

Meanwhile, in 1916, an Anglo-British Mission under General 
(then Colonel) the Marchese di Vita and Colonel Talbot had ap¬ 
proached Sidi Mohammed Idris es Senussi at Tobruk and Zuetina 
with a view to arranging a modus vivendi in Cyrenaica. 

Sayed Idris had taken no part in his cousin’s campaign against 
Egypt. On the contrary, he threw all his influence as the son of 
Mahdi into the opposing scale. 

As soon as Sayed Ahmed decided to attack, the younger Sen¬ 
ussi retired, with his brother Sayed Rida, to Jedabia, writing to 
General Maxwell to say that he did not support his cousin’s policy. 
He continued firmly in this course, though when Sayed Ahmed was 
defeated Mannismann came west with some Turks and Egyptian 
Coastguards to try and persuade him to continue the war. Sayed 
Idris refused, and Mannismann was killed on his way to Tripoli, a 
journey he had undertaken in direct opposition to the Senussi’s 
advice. 

It was thus natural that both Cyrenaica and Italy should turn 
to the eldest son of the Mahdi for help in the work of re-organisa¬ 
tion, necessitated by Sayed Ahmed’s disastrous policy. 

A dual agreement was drawn up in 1917 between the British 
and Italian Governments on the one side and Sayed Mohammed 
Idris, as the head of the confraternity, on the other, by which it 
was agreed that:— 

(a) The Italian Government will retain the coast towns, 
and certain already occupied posts a short distance inland, 
but will create no new posts. 

(b) Commerce is to be unrestricted between the interior 
and Benghazi, Tobruk and Dema. 

(c) Courts according to Sharia Law and schools for the 
education of natives will be built and maintained by the 
Italians who will also restore zawias and zawia property not 
still required for military purposes and be responsible for 
the salaries of sheikhs el zawia appointed by Sidi Idris. 

(d) Material assistance will be rendered to Mohammed 
Idris by the Italian Government supplying him with arms, 
ammunition, equipment and food for a limited number of men. 
For the moment 4,000 is the number fixed. These are to be 


334 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


used partly against the enemy and partly for the purpose of 
maintaining public security in the interior of Cyrenaica. 

(e) Personal allowances to certain members of the 
Senussi family are to be paid monthly. 

(f) In return for this, Mohammed Idris will make him¬ 
self responsible for the maintenance of peace in the interior, 
but will form no new posts, will gradually disarm the popula¬ 
tion, will place no obstacles in the way of the Italian Govern¬ 
ment for the forcible disarmament of hostile groups, will allow 
Italian delegates to enter the interior for the settlement of 
affairs with his local representative while the Italian Govern¬ 
ment may at any time send a representative to discuss 
matters with him in person. 

Since then an excellent understanding has been arrived at, 
chiefly owing to the personal influence of H. E. The Governor of 
Cyrenaica, Senator de Martino and Sayed Mohammed Idris under 
which Cyrenaica bids fair to have a prosperous commercial and 
agricultural future. 

By the accord of Regima in November, 1920, Italy and the 
Senussi ratified the Italo-British Agreement before quoted. 

Sayed Idris was given the hereditary title of Emir with juris¬ 
diction as “an independent ruler on behalf of Italy” over the oases 
of Kufara, Jaghabub, Jalo, Aujela and Jedabia. He is to disband 
his “karakols” and armed camps in Cyrenaica, and the Italians are 
to find employment for the men thus left without work in a regular 
police force. The terms of the new Constitution granted to 
Cyrenaica provide that five members, out of the 44 constituting the 
Legislative Assembly, shall be elected from the oases of the in¬ 
terior. It is expected that a port will be built at Zuetina and that 
the trans-Saharan trade from Wadai and Darfur will pass 
through Kufara, Jalo, and Jedabia on its way to this Mediter¬ 
ranean outlet. 

At the present moment Sayed Idris rules by means of kaima- 
kaans at Kufara, Jalo, Jaghabub, Jedabia, el Abiar, Takness, 
Merawa and Kholaf. Under each kaimakaan is a Qadi (judge), 
and a Mahkama Sharia (Religious Court) consisting of two clerks, 
a Mwdir Amual (Head of the Financial Department), a 
Treasurer and Clerk, and a Mamur Tahsil (Head Tax-collector). 

The justice is that of the Koran and “Onshur”—a tenth part 
is paid yearly on palms and live-stock. Five per cent. Customs 


APPENDICES 


835 


dues is levied on all goods entering the Senussi country and a small 
sum on the sale of a camel, sheep or goat, but it is expected that, in 
view of the friendly relations at present existing between the 
Italian Government and the Emir Idris, a system of customs will 
be organised to encourage! trade between the interior and the 
coastal districts. In the future it will be interesting to observe in 
what direction the Senussi will develop. 

The organisation has departed from the basic elements of its 
inception. Begun as an isolated religious confraternity, it has 
expanded by way of mercantile and political influence into a 
dynastic entity whose desire for civilisation must necessarily force 
it along lines widely divergent from those contemplated by its 
founder. It is certain that the Emir Idris will have the whole¬ 
hearted support of the country in whatever course he chooses to 
pursue, and with the present sympathetic co-operation of the 
Italian Government it is probable that he will lead the march of 
Arab progress in North Africa. 


APPENDIX C 


Translation of Arab Document of the Welcome given at Buseima . 

In the name of God, the Compasionate, the Merciful. 

On the blessed day of Friday, 28th Rabia eth Thani, 1339, 
there came to our town Buseima, the honourable Ahmed Abu 
Mohammed Hassanein, the Egyptian, son of Sheikh Mohammed 
Ahmed Hassanein el Bulaki, the professor of the sacred Azhar and 
the lady Khadija and they are carrying the orders of His Beati¬ 
tude our Great Prince, Sayed Mohammed Idris, son of Mohammed 
el Mahdi es Senussi. We met them with great honour and hospi¬ 
tality and congratulated them on their safe arrival to us. We 
hoped that God may be exalted, would grant success to their 
efforts, and return them safe and victorious in the best conditions 
for the sake of the Prophet, his friends and his family. 

Signed . 

Mohammed Ali el Mardini 
Saad Ibn Ahmed Faqrun 
Yunis ibn Mahi 
Suleiman ibn Khalid Faqrun 
Omar Ibn el Gaid 
Saleh Ibn Ahmed Faqrun 

Translation of Arab Document of Welcome given at Kufara 
(Taj). 

On the blessed day of Friday the 3rd of Jamad el Awal, 1339, 
there came to our town in Kufara the honoured Ahmed Mohammed 
Hassanein Bey, the Egyptian, son of Sheikh Mohammed Hassa¬ 
nein el Bulaki, professor of the honoured Azhar and the lady 
Khadija. They were carrying the orders of our great prince 
Sayed Mohammed Idris el Mahdi es Senussi and, according to the 
exalted orders we met them with all honour and respect and 
thanked God for their safe arrival to us, and hoping of Him their 
safe return. 

Signed: 

The Second Adviser of Kufara, Ahmed es Sussi, May God 
forgive him. 


336 




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DOCUMENT OF WELCOME GIVEN AT KUFARA (TAj) 


APPENDICES 


337 


The Judge, Osman el Barassi, May God forgive him. 

The Adviser, Sayed Mohammed Ibn Omar el Fadhil, May God 
forgive him. 

The Wakil of the Sayed at Kufara, Mohammed Saleh el 
Baskari, May God guard him. 


APPENDIX D 


Translation of original MS letter of Sidi Ben AH es Senussi, 
founder of the Senussi Confraternity , to the people of Wajamga. 
Seen in Kufara. 

In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful, May God 
pray on our master Mohammed, his family and his companions, 
and may He give them peace! 

It is from the chosen of his God, Mohammed ibn Ali ibn El 
Senussi El Khatabi El Hassani El Idrissi to the noble and learned 
and brilliant Sheikh Farag El Ginghawi and all the people of 
Wajanga, old and young, male and female, may God save them all 
and give them their wish of this world and the next! Amen. 

Peace be upon you and the mercy of God, His blessings, His 
salutations, His forgiveness and His approval. 

Our intention and our wish is, first to enquire after you and 
all your affairs, may God guide them and make them conform with 
His Book and the tradition of His Prophet Mohammed. 

Secondly, we wish to ask you in the name of Islam to obey God 
and His Prophet. He, praise be to Him, said in His dear Book, 
“Oh, ye, who are believers, obey God and obey the Prophet!” He 
also said, “He who obeys the Prophet has also obeyed God.” He 
also said, “He who obeys God and His Prophet has won a great 
victory.” He also said, “Those who obey God and the Prophet, 
they are with the prophets whom God has rewarded.” 

We wish to ask you to obey what God and His Prophet have 
ordered, making the five prayers, keeping the month of Ramadan, 
giving tithe, making the Haj to the sacred home of God and avoid¬ 
ing what God has forbidden, of telling lies, abusing people behind 
their backs, taking unlawfully other people’s money, drinking wine, 
killing people unlawfully, giving false evidence and other things 
which God has forbidden. 

In following these you will gain everlasting good and endless 
profits which will never be taken from you. 

Some men of your country had asked us to send with them 
338 


APPENDICES 


339 


some of our ekhwan [brothers] in order to remind them of God 
and teach them what God and his Prophet have ordained and guide 
them rightly. We decided to do this because it is our profession 
[mission] for which God has put us, i.e. to remind the negligent, 
teach the ignorant and guide him who has gone astray. But at 
that time we were in the sacred “Haramain” [Mecca]. When we 
arrived in these parts we occupied ourselves with guiding the peo¬ 
ple to the paths of God and we did not find anyone of your country 
with whom to send those who would teach people this religion. 

Now our sons of Zawaya, who are the inhabitants of Tazerr, 
which you know, have come to us and repented and asked us to 
build a zawia at the mentioned Tazerr.* Our intention is to be¬ 
come your neighbours and teach you and your sons of the Book of 
God and the tradition his Prophet, Mohammed. May God’s 
prayers and peace be on him! Also we intend to make peace be¬ 
tween you and the Arabs who invade you and take your sons and 
your money. In doing this we will be enacting what God has said, 
“If two parties of believers fight, make peace between them.” 
Also his saying, “Fear God, make peace between one another and 
obey God and His Prophet if you are believers.” He also said, 
“Give an order for alms or a good deed or making peace between 
people. He who does this for the sake of pleasing God will gain 
a great reward.” 

In this way there will be co-operation for doing good and for 
piety, as God has ordained by saying, “Co-operate for doing good 
and for piety and do not co-operate for vice and assault.” The 
Prophet said, “People of God, be brethren and help one another in 
religion.” 

As to rebellion and dispute, no good comes out of them and 
God has forbidden them in his dear Book by saying, “Do not dis¬ 
pute or you will fail and be dispersed; be patient, for God is with 
the patient.” 

Inshallah, if you obey our orders and accept our advice, then a 
few of our sons will come to you to teach your sons the Book of 
God, and your men the tradition and ways of His Prophet. You 
will then not fear anyone and you will have much of God’s bounty 
and mercy, Inshallah. 

Give our salutation and this letter of ours to all who are round 
you, those who wish for the obedience of God and His Prophet and 
who wish to follow the Book and the Tradition. 

* Tazerr was the old name for Kufara. 


340 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


May God, may He be praised, make you of those who guide 
and who have been guided and of those who point out what is good 
and who follow it! 

May you remain in endless peace and health! 

Dated the fourth day of Moharren , 1266. 


GLOSSARY 


“Adaryayanl” A cry used when halting camels. “We have 
arrived, oh sick ones.” 

Aged. A rope used to tie a camel’s legs or the thick cords worn 
on the head above the kufiya. 

Alaf. A measure of fodder. 

“AUahu AJcbar.” God is great. 

“Aselamw, Alaikvm , Marhaba , Marimba.” Greetings to you. 
Welcome! 

“Ash hadu ilia IUaha ill AUah wa ash hadu inna Mohammed an 
rasul Allah.” I confess there is no God but God, and I confess 
that Mohammed is His Prophet. 

Asida. Sticky mass of damp flour flavoured with onions or oil. 

Azzau. The act of calling to prayer. 

Barracan. A long cotton garment worn by the women. 

Basoor . Camel saddle in which women travel. 

Bayid. Far. 

“Beit esh shar.” Camel’s-hair tent. 

“Beit UUah.” The house of God. 

Belad. Village. 

“BisUama.” With safety. 

“Bismillah.” By the name of God. 

“BismUlah arahmam arahmim.” By the name of God the merciful 
and compassionate. 

Bumws. Arab garment. 

Ekhwan. Brothers. Used colloquially in Libya to mean “a 
brother.” 

“El Fagr.” Dawn. 

“El Maktub Maktwb.” What is written is written. 

“En nahs teyibin hena. Ana Mabsut.” The people are good 
here. I am happy. 

Fadldmg. Sitting down and talking. 

Fanatis. Tin water-carriers. 

“Fatha.” The first sura (chapter) of the Koran. 

Fatta. An Arab dish of carrots, bread and eggs. 

341 


342 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


Feisha. A gourd used as a charm to keep a husband’s affection. 
FiL-fl , Red pepper. 

Gara. A tabular hill. 

Gebel. A mountain. 

Gherds. Dunes. 

Gibli. Sand-laden south wind. 

Girba. Dried goatskin water-carrier. 

Haji. A man who has made the pilgrimage (Haj ) to Mecca. 
Hajin. Trotting camels. 

“Hamdulillah.” Thank God. 

Hamla. Baggage camels. 

Hatia. A depression containing brushwood. 

Hawia.< Baggage saddle. 

“Haya alia Salat! Haya alia falah” The Moslem call to prayer. 
He jab. Charm. 

Hezaam. Sash or belt. 

Hubz. Bread. 

“Inshallah ma temut iUa Islam.” If God wills (or I hope) you 
will die a Moslem. 

Jaafa. A large leather sack. 

Jelabia. Wide native coat. 

Jerd. Native garment—a strip of woollen or silk stuff. 

Jubba. Arab under dress. 

Kaftan. Long Arab inner coat. 

Kavmakaan. Governor. 

“Keif halalc?” How are you? 

“Khallas.” Finished. 

Khoor. Saddle-bag. 

Kibla. The direction of prayer (towards Mecca). 

Kufiya. Arab head-dress. 

Laghbi. Fermented palm-juice. 

Leaf = palm leaf. 

Ma-araka. Skull cap. 

“Maasellam.” With safety. 

“Mabsut.” Happy. 

Madna. Tower. 

Mamnum. Grateful. 

Mandil. Handkerchief. 

“Marhaba.” Welcome. 

Megliss. Council. 

Mejidie. A Turkish coin worth 3s. to 4s. 


GLOSSARY 


848 


Mihrab. Praying-niche. 

Mvmbar. Pulpit. 

Morabit. As an adjective “Holy.” As a noun “Th« tomb of a 
holy person.” 

“Min da?” Who is that? 

Naga. A female camel. 

“Nahs Taibeen.” Good people. 

Nugga. A Beduin tent. 

Oke. A measure. 

Qubba . A domed holy tomb. 

Onrush. A small Turkish coin. 

“ Raqa-at.” Positions or stages of prayer. 

“Rahmat Allah!” The peace of God. 

"Rahmat vllahi Allahim.” “The peace of God be on him.” 
Sabakha. A salt marsh. 

“Salamu aleikum wa Rahmdb Allah.” Greetings to you and the 
peace of Allah. 

Sederiya. A short shirt. 

Serg. A saddle. 

Shadouk. Well. 

Shamadcm. A certain kind of wind-proof candlestick. 

Shehada. The Moslem profession of faith, “There is no God but 
God,” etc. 

“Shey latif.” A pleasant thing. 

Sitt. Lady. 

Suq. Market. 

Sura. Chapter of Koran. 

Tobh. Woman’s dress. 

Tukel. Round hut. 

“UUada een.” Women’s cry of rejoicing. 

WaJcU. Representative (steward or lieutenant-governor). 

Wazir. Minister. 

Zawia. College. 

Zeit. Oil. 

Zemzvmaya . Felt-covered water-bottle. 












INDEX 


Abdel Salam, Haji, 22, 23 
Abdil Rahman Bu Zetina, Sayed, 
194 

Abdul Kasim, Sheikh, 90, 92, 94 
Abdul Rahim {see Rahim) 
Abdullah Shekari, Sheikh, 204 
Abdullah, a famous guide, 96, 97, 
98, 103 

a quarrel with Mohammed, 248 
a re-echo of, 243 
author “relieved of,” 195 
complete demoralisation of, 138 
cunning treachery of, x, 181 
et seq. 

his fear of the Bazamas, 172 
his route to Taiserbo, 126 
et seq. 

meets author in the Holy Place, 
193 

misses his way, 134 et seq. 
over-reaches himself, 185 
secures permission to camp in 
Buseima, 148 
visits his relations, 161 
Abdullahi Sahabi, qubba of, 95 
Abed, Sidi el, hospitality of, 223 
et seq. 

Abid Auwaghir tribe, the, 206 
Abidat tribe, the, 206 
Abu Bakr, Sheikh of Ribiana, 236 
Abu Bekr Manfi, and Hassanein’s 
accident, 302 et seq. 
succeeds Mohammed as guide, 
300, 301 

“Abu fasada” of Egypt, the, 160, 
235 

Abyssinian soldiers, fantastic 
dance of, 5 


Agaling camels: a saying of the 
Prophet, 272 
Agil, 204, 205 

Ahmed Bey Hassanein {see Has- 
sanein) 

Ahmed Effendi, 94 
Ahmed el Khadri, 220 
Ahmed es Senussi, Sayed, a last 
blessing from, 245 
photographed by author, 240 
Ahmed es Sherif, Sayed, 9, 16, 
18, 109, 197 

caravans across a new route, 
262 

influence of, 226 
orders emigration of Madeni to 
Taiserbo, 158 
Ahmed, Sidi, 119 
Ahmed, Sultan, his route to Ku- 
fara, 92 
Ain Jelelat, 157 
Ain Talib, 157 
Ait Anira tribe, 150 
Alexandria, reached by author, 
308 

Ali Basha el Abdya, General, 3 
Ali Dinar, Sultan of Darfur, 39 
Amar, a feat of endurance by, 280 
ill with fever, 285 
kills and eats a sand mouse, 259 
Mohammed’s follower, 248, 
251, 256 
Antelat, 27 

Arab hospitality, laws of, 245 
outstanding instances of, 11> 
198, 223 et seq., 230 
Arab love of secrecy, 70 


345 



346 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


Arabs, European policy towards, 
63 

how British prestige has dwin¬ 
dled among, 111 
responsive sympathy of, 300 
their distrust and suspicion of 
strangers, 204, 206 
their estimate of gold, 166 
tiffs with the Sudanese, ISO, 
135, 151 

(see also Senussi) 

Arida, 80 

Asayad, zawia of, a visit to, 214 
“Asida,” and of what it is com¬ 
posed, 261 
Aujela, 19, 88 

author’s reception in, 94 et seq. 
ekhwan in, 94 
Aulad Bu Hassan, 151 
Auwaghirs, an encampment of, 1 
horsemanship of, 7 
Awardel, 247 

Badr, Sheikh, 206, 207 
Bahet Hafan, 292 
Ball, Dr., Director of Desert Sur¬ 
veys of Egypt, xii 
Barca, 213, 229 
Basha el Ghariam, Sharuf, 4 
Bashar, blind poet of Aleppo, 84 
Bazama family, plots of, x, 163, 
164, 165 

Bazama, Hasan, 240 
Bazama, Husein, 240 
Beduin, feminine attire described, 
44 

idea of “comfort,” 231, 234 
ignorance of distance, 84 
protest against author’s visit, 93 
Beduins, and the continued ex¬ 
istence of the Mahdi, 167, 
215 

appetites of, 52 
fanaticism of, 56 
fatalism of, 254 


Beduins, friction with the blacks, 
124 

hospitality of, 71 
loyalty of, 62 
Sidi Idris and the, 110 
simple life of, 84 
their fear of black slaves, 81 
tribute to generosity of, 36 
Ben Ali es Senussi, Sidi, 151, 204 
home of, 293 

important historical letter from. 
221, 338-340 
Benghazi, 1, 2 

death of Korayim at, 18 
en fete, 5 
festas at, 2 

Government House at, 2 
hospitality at, 18 
in suspense at, 19 
Rohlfs’ escape to, 149 
sale of ivory in, 109 
Bir Mareg, 80 
Bir Msus, 87 
Bir Nasrani, 149, 155 
Bir Rassam, 73 
wells of, 74 

“Black bears,” the, 130 
Boema, 17, 158, 192 
a visit to, 210 

Boema-Farafra route, the, 25£ 
Bornu, 119 
Brahsa tribe, the, 206 
British prestige, loss of. 111 
Bu Alia, 288, 289 
Bu Badr, Sheikh Mansur, ix, 176, 
181, 183, 184 

“Bucksumat,” definition of, 274 
Bu Fadil, 195 

Bu Gemira, Sidi Yadem, 295 
Bu Guettin, Bukr, 17, 149 
Bu Hassan, 151 
Bu Helayig, Mabruk, 206 
Bu Korayim, Hamid, 149, 206, 
207, 217 




INDEX 


Buma, 192, 210, 211 

stories of Rohlfs' adventures 
told at, ix 

Bu Matar, Sheikh (see Suleiman 
Bu Matar) 

Bu Regea, Sheikh, ix, 149, 150, 
156, 162 

Burton, Sir Richard, a truism of, 
48 

Bu Salama, 288, 291 

Buseima, 15 
dates of, 157 
described, 154 
dislike of strangers in, 159 
enmity of, 163 

fearsome tales of the Zouias of, 
143 

“gara" of, in sight, 145 
the charm of, 155 
traces of Rohlfs’ journey at, ix 
translation of Arab document of 
welcome given at, 336-337 
Zouia stronghold at, 91 

Bush Naf el Ghadad, 177, 206 

Buttafal, 15, 91, 120, 121 

a time-honoured custom neg¬ 
lected at, 217 

Bu Zetina, Sayed Abdil Rahman, 
194 

Camel, and sand grouse, story of 
a, 260 

regular pace of a, 270 

Camel Corps Patrol, a welcome, 
306 

Camels, a stampede of, 57, 274 
effect of singing on, 79, 86, 145 
how loaded, 51, 275 
the first sign of thirst in, 285 
their ninth day without water, 
139 

Caravans, task of loading, 115 

Christmas in the desert, 112 et 
seq. 

Cleopatra's asp, 235 


847 

Coti face powder, coveted by 
Omar, 96 
“Couss-couss," 200 
Cyrenaica, 288 

Agil offers allegiance of Zouias 
to the Senussi in, 205 
capital of, 1 
future of, 110 

Governor of, receives author, ix 
(see De Martino, Senator) 
Italian control of, 19, 31 

Dahwa, 157 
Dakhla Desert, 16 
“Darb," definition of, 205 
Dates, an Arab proverb regard¬ 
ing, 274 

their various uses in Kufara, 
234 

De Martino, Senator, ix, 3, 18, 
110 

Desert, the, and the development 
of character, 129 
call of, 300 

Christmas in, 112 et seq. 
cities: a celebrated group of, 
158 

customs of, 65, 175 
fatalism of, 68, 168, 254, 265 
hospitable customs of nomads 
of, 65, 117 

how news is carried in, 67 
how “roads" are marked in, 54 
illusiveness of distances in, 50 
mirages in, 53, 134, 135, 137, 
175, 277 

moonlight in, 246 
scent of, 4 

subtle and cruel charm of, 58 
wireless telegraphy system of, 
25, 54, 58 
Diranjedi, 17, 156 
Di Vita, General, ix, 3 
Drunkenness, punishment for, 
153, 227 



348 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


“Dune of Firepots,” the, 167 
Dunes, elusive, 267, 268, 270 et 
seq. 

Durur, servant of Sidi Saleh, 223 

Eagle, an, Yusuf’s story of, 266 
East, the, fatalism of, 68, 168, 
254, 265 

heredity and, 194 
hospitable customs of, 65, 117 
Eastern Sahara, the, oases of, 15 
Eckhart, 16 

Egypt, destruction of Senussi 
zawias in, 109 
vulnerable of attack, xi 
Egyptian forts, xi 
El Abd, 157 
El Abed, Sidi, 194, 223 
El Amra, a halt at, 301 
El Atash, 140 
El Erg, 99, 112 
El Gumma, 239 
El Harrash, 172 
El Kasr, 91 
El Wadi, 91, 157 
Eritreans, 1 

European policy towards Arabs, 
63 

Fadil, Jebail, 229 
Fagil, Sidi el, Imam, 295 
Faied tribe, the, 206 
Faisul, Emir, 111 
Faqrun, Maihub, 154, 156 
Faqrun, Saleh, 154, 156, 163 
Farafra, route to Kufara, 92 
Farraj, 56, 59, 61, 81, 82, 151, 
158, 166, 180 
his mighty oath, 66 
politeness of, in trying circum¬ 
stances, 136 

“Fatha,” the (opening sura of the 
Koran), as both blessing and 
oath, 27 

Fawai tribe, 151 


Feasts in the Holy Place, 185 
et seq. 

Feisha, the, and its significance, 

99 

Festal sheep, sacrifice of, 156 
Fetater, Haji, 26, 82, 163 
Fezzan desert, 14 
“Firepots, Dune of,’’ 167 
Flea-hunting in Jedabia, 60 
Forbes, Rosita (“Sitt Khadija’’), 
a prisoner in earnest, 185 
et seq. 

a risky snapshot in Kufara, 202 
a shooting match with the Mo- 
jabras, 69 
a terrible walk, 136 
across the desert with She-ib, 
64 et seq. 

an interrupted visit to Hawa- 
wiri, 180 et seq. 
an uncomfortable doze, 285, 
286 

an unforgettable picture, 273 
and Haji Fetater, 26, 82, 163 
and Hassanein’s accident, 302 
et seq. 

at a dinner to the Emir, 3 
bargains for festal sheep, 152 
depressing Job’s comforters 
and, 229 

discovers human skeletons, 169 
dines with Sayed Rida, 12 
dislocates her foot, 13, 49 
dispenses medicine, 179, 247 
draws sand maps at Taiserbo, 
158 

encounters a severe gibli, 116 
et seq. 

end of her most unpleasant 

Christmas, 125 

enters the dwelling of Sidi 
Idris, 194 

enters the Holy Place, 193 
fatalism of her retinue, 136 
et seq. 



INDEX 


349 


Forbes, Rosita, feasts in the Holy- 
Place, 195 et seq. 
finds Rohlfs’ traces, ix, 149 
first sight of Sidi Idris, 2 
fitted for “strange garments,” 
33 

guest of Sayed Rida, 21 et seq. 
heavily veiled in Kufara, 197 
her last Arabic blessing, 299 
in Beduin feminine attire, 44, 
54 

invited to proceed to Kufara, 
189 

limited water supply and the 
consequence, 78 
loses count of time, 225 
makes herself understood in 
Libya, 278 

pours oil on troubled waters, 
130 

rates Beduins and blacks, 151 
received by Sayed Rida, 10 
et seq. 

sees an original letter of Sidi 
Ben Ali es Senussi, 221 (for 
translation see pp. 338-340) 
seventeen hours of torture, 232 
starts for Jalo, 98 
starts on the great adventure, 7 
et seq. 

strikes the Jalo-Jaghabub route, 
289 

the Sahara gives up her secret, 
191 

through the mountains, 251 et 
seq. 

unravels a mystery, 164 et seq. 
visited by mother of Sheikh 
Musa, 179 

Forth, Col., Commandant of 
Camel Corps, xi 

Frontier Districts Administration, 
the, x, xi 

a search party from, 306 et seq. 


Garboah Effendi, 108 
Garu, Beduin tales of Sidi el 
Mahdi’s disappearance at, 
167 

Gebail Fadil, why so named, 229 
Gebel Akhbar, 205, 288 
Gebel Neri, 170 et seq. 

as landmarks, 236, 252 
Gezira, 157 

Gharibeel, Musa, ix, 176, 183, 
184, 225 

Ghawazi tribe, 151 
Ghemines, 7 

Gibli, a memorable, 11 6 et seq. 

definition of a, 60 
Girba, 306 

Hassanein treated at, 309 
Girba, a, definition of, 90 
Gold, usual exchange for, 229 
(note) 

Haballah el Abed, 150 
Haifan, Tawati, 208 
“Haifa,” definition of, 157 
Hameida Bey Zeitun, 101, 105, 
112, 163 

Hamid Bu Korayim, 149, 206, 
207, 217 

Hasan Bazama, 240 
Hassan tribe, the, 206 
Hassanein Bey, accompanies au¬ 
thor to Libyan Desert, viii, 
6 

an accident to, 302 et seq. 
an attack of rheumatism, 49, 50 
as barber, 292 
as watch-mender, 121 
feasts in the Holy Place, 195 
his yellow slippers, 22 
illness of, 203 
in dire straits, 135, 137 
left to entertain ekhwan at 
Jaghabub, 295 

made comfortable after his ac¬ 
cident, 307 




350 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


Hassanein Bey, preparations for 
escape from Jedabia, 42 
recovers a lost sardine in the 
sand, 281 

speaks out, 182, 183 
suspected of Pan-Islamic de¬ 
signs, 19, 28 

thermos flask of, and Musa She- 
ib’s surprise, 78-9 
travelling kit of, 6, 33, 44, 249 
“Hattab,” definition of, 157, 175 
Hauwa, the slave-girl, 117, 118, 
121, 130, 184, 193 
Hawaish, meaning of the word, 
171 

Hawaish mountains, 256 et seq., 
267 

the old-time name for, 170-1 
Hawari, 15, 158 

apologies for reception of au¬ 
thor from, 225 

construction of houses at, 176 
loading camels at, 251 
stories of Rohlfs’ adventures 
told at, ix 

treachery at, 172 et seq. 
tribesmen of, interview author, 
177 

Hawari Gari, 174 
farewell to, 252 
Hawawiri, a visit to, 190 
an interrupted visit to, 180 
reached by Rohlfs, 17 
Hejaz Kingdom, the, 110 
Helaig, 204 

Hilal, Sayed, his house at Lebba, 
112 

Hilal, Sidi, flees to Tobruk, 120 
Hohsa tribe, the, 206 
Homemann on the people of 
Aujela, 174 
Hubner, 16 
Hunter, Brig.-Gen., xi 
Husein Bazama, 240 
Hussein, King, 111 


Hussein, Sidi (wakil of Sidi 
Idris), 296 

blesses the author, 299 

Ibrahim, Sidi (son of Sayed 
Ahmed Sherif), 239 

Ibrahim Bishari, Sheikh, 103, 104, 
108, 110 

Idris, Sidi, a dinner in honour of, 
3 et seq. 

a personal letter from, x, 8, 67, 
90, 101, 102 et passim 
appearance of, 3 
departs for Italy, 6 
foreign policy of, 2, 51, 110, 
227 

gives his blessing to author, 4, 
101 

his house in the Holy Place, 
194 

unquestioning obedience of his 
followers, 5, 109, 205, 226- 
7, 291 

Irak tree, the, and its uses, 205 

Italians and Senussi ratify pro¬ 
visional treaty of 1916, 2, 31, 
110 

Italy, broad-minded policy of, 110 

Ivory, a fifty per cent, profit on, 
108 

Jaghabub, death of Mohammed 
Ben Ali at, 14 
described, 293 
entry into, 294 

freed slaves of, and their gar¬ 
dens, 293 

Mohammed’s mission to, 292 
route to Kufara, 92, 262 
the college buildings, 298 
university of, 293 et seq. 
visits to mosque of, 297, 298 

Jalo, a start for, 98 
departure from, 115 
politics discussed at, 109 et seq. 



INDEX 


Jalo, Rohlfs* departure from, 16 
routes from, to Kufara, 91 
trade of, 108 

triumphant arrival at, 88, 100 
et seq. 

Jedabia, author watches a dance 
at, 39 et seq. 

beginning of the great adven¬ 
ture at, 1 

escape from, 39 et seq. 
plans for flight from, 21 et seq. 
Jinns, elusive, 171, 301 
Jof, 16, 158, 177, 192 

a delayed messenger from, 181 
a visit to, 218 

exclusiveness of inhabitants of, 
219 

meaning of, 214- 
population of, 219 
qubba of daughters of Sidi el 
Mahdi at, 219 
return to, 237 

the Kaimakaan of, and Abdul¬ 
lah, 185, 186 
the market in, 213 

Kalb el Metemma, 127 
Kasr Diranjedi (El Wadi), 157 
Kebabo, the Senussi in, 15 
(see also Kufara) 

Keid el Adu (original name of the 
Hawaish mountains), 171 
Khadija, Mohammed’s first wife, 
197 

“Khadija, Sitt,” Mohammedan 
name of author, 54 
Kheima, The, 255 
Koran, the, and man’s behaviour 
towards women, 71 
as the code of justice, 227 
Korayim, Abd Rabu, 17, 18, 14-9, 
206, 207, 217 
Kseba, 91 

Kufara, a French prisoner of war 
in, 16 


351 

Kufara, a gargantuan feast at, 
198 et seq. 

absence of sugar in, 196 
brigands of, 205 
“cities” of, 203 et seq. 
commercial aspect of, 159 
feasts in, 195 et seq. 
flora and fauna of the wadi, 235 
gardens of, 212 
prices in, 228 

routes to, 91 , 92, 108, 109, 262 
sacrosanctity of, 14) 
the Wadi of, 208 
what it owes to the Mahdi, 108, 
205, 228 

“Kufra,” Rohlfs*, viii, 18 
Kusebeya, 157, 303 

Laghbi, what it is, and laws 
against, 153 
Lake Chad, 14- 
Landmarks, impromptu, 268 
Lebba, 99 

Lebba, a visit to, 112 
the zawia at, 113 

Libya, a German scientific expedi¬ 
tion to, 16 

difficulties of survey work in, 

76 

exclusiveness of, x 
feelings towards Britain in, 109 
its devotion to its ruler, 291 
mountain oases of, 171 
smoking forbidden in, 4?, 14, 
220, 308 

the mentality of, 189 
Libyan Desert, the, an excursion 
to, 6 et seq. 

man’s trust in some unknown 
Power in, 128 
the postman of, 75 

Mabruk, Chief of the Police, 28, 
24, 29, 37 

Mabruk, the slave, 298 



352 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


Mabruk Bu Helayig, 206 
Mabus (village), 91 
Mabus el Awadil, 157 
Mabus Gaballa, 157 
MacDonnell, Col., Governor of 
Western Desert, xi 
Madeni, the, compulsory emigra¬ 
tion of, 158 

Mahdi, the, Arab belief in con¬ 
tinued existence of, 167, 215 
frees slaves, 293 
gara of, 289 

his work for Kufara, 108, 205, 
228 

introduces jerd and jubba, 205 
opens Jaghabub-Kufara route, 
262 

orders cisterns to be erected at 
the Mehemsa, 270 
qubba of, 215 

Mahmud el Jeddawi, 227, 229, 
237, 242, 252 
Maktu, a rest at, 301 
Mannismann, assassination of, 24, 
95 

Manshia, 99 

Mansur Bu Badr of the Gebail, 
ix, 149, 176, 181, 183, 184 
Map-making in the desert, 158, 
159 

Mareg, Bir, 80 

Marriages arranged in the desert, 
83 

Martino, Senator de, ix, 3, 18, 110 
Matruh, 309 
Mazeel, 134 

Mecca, a Senussi zawia near, 111 
Mediterranean, the, Egyptian 
Coastguard forts along, xi 
Mehemsa, the, barraking at, 268 
cisterns of, 270 
Merg, 279 

Mighrib, of the Mojabra tribe, 74, 
81, 87, 99 


Mirages in the desert, 53, 134, 
135, 137, 175, 277 
Misurata, 267 
Mogharba tribe, the, 206 
Mohammed Ali, polices his fron¬ 
tiers, xi 

Mohammed Ben Ali, teachings of, 
14 

history of, 323 et seq. 
important letter from, 221, 
338-340 

zawia at Lebba, 113 
Mohammed el Jeddawi, Sidi, 196 
Mohammed el Madeni, Sidi, 
sheikh of Gezira, ix, 149, 
151, 156, 157, 158, 159 
Mohammed, Haji, 39 
Mohammed Hilal es Senussi, 9 
Mohammed Idris es Senussi, the 
Emir (see Idris) 

Mohammed Maghruf, 103, 108 
Mohammed Quemish (see Que- 
mish) 

Mohammed Sherif, Sheikh, 211, 

212 

and the Kufara tribesmen, 213 
and the Zieghen route, 255 
Mohammed Semmen, Sayed, 208 
Mohammed, Sidi, the Mahdi, 14, 
95, 108 

(see also Mahdi, the) 
Mohammed Tawati, a paralysed 
“close friend of the Mahdi,** 
227 

Mohammed Teifaitah, 209 
Mohgen, The, 255 
Mohi ed Din, Sidi (son of Sayed 
Ahmed Sherif), 239 
Mojabras, the, 68 et seq. 

Moraja (author’s sergeant), 105, 
126, 127, 159, 160, 180 
marriage of, 241 
reaches Aujela, 96 
Moslem, the, fanaticism of, 24, 
111 



INDEX 


353 


Msus, Bir, 87 

Mukhtar attacks Bomba, 119 
“Mulukhia,” 195 
Musa Gharibeel, Sheikh, ix, 176, 
183, 184, 225 

Musa Squaireen, Sheikh, ix, 176 
Mustapha, 22, 23 

“Nasrani,” Moslem hatred of, 

26, 56, 76, 107, 150, 206 
Nasrani well, the, 149, 155 
North African travels, Rohlfs’ 

work on, viii, 17 
Nubian sandstone, 146 

Omar (Government interpreter), 

27, 87, 89, 95 

Omar, of She-ib’s caravan, and a 
suitor for his sister, 83 
Omar Pasha, a dinner to Sidi 
Idris, 3 

Omar, Sheikh of Lebba, greets 
author, 113 

Omar, Sidi, ix, 149, 150, 156 
a broad hint to author from, 225 
as guide to author, 201, 202 
his affection for author, 226 
his fear of the camera, 240 
“Onshur,” definition of, 164 
Orfella, the, 120 
Osman Qadi, 227 

terrified at being photographed, 
240 

Osman, Sayed, judge of Kufara, 
195 

Oweinat well, 279 

Palm-leaf baskets and rope, 212 
Paper money, usual exchange for, 
229 (note) 

Passometer, a, accurate measure¬ 
ments of, 80 

Paternity, importance of, 131 
Pianola, a, in the house of Sayed 
Saleh, 198 


Queirolo, Cavaliere, ix 
Quemish, Mohammed (guide), x 
a feat of endurance by, 280 
and Abdullah’s treachery, 186 
and the flight from Taj, 238 
author introduced to, 47 
cowardice of, 160 
demoralisation of, 173 
dispatched to Taj, 187 
fine qualities displayed in a try¬ 
ing time, 129 et seq. 
quarrels with Abdullah, 248 
recovers his self-respect, 181 
et seq. 

Sayed Rida entrusts care of au¬ 
thor to, 35 

sent to Jaghabub, 292 
take" leave of author, 299 
wants a star “put out,” 272 

Rahim, Abdul, escorts author, 27, 
96, 97, 241 
hides in his tent, 180 
his fear of the Bazamas, 172 
on the Senussi influence, 119 
poor physique of, 130,160 
Ramadan Shetewi, 120 
Rassam, Bir, 73 

Red Sea, the, Egyptian Coast¬ 
guard forts along, xi 
Regima, Senussi understanding 
with Italians at, 2, 31, 110, 
227 

Ribiana, 15 

an invitation to visit, refused, 
241 

arrival of a spy from, 163 
gara of, 170 
mountain of, 166 
population of, 236 
Tebu stronghold at, 91, 150, 
157 

zawia of, 236 



354 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


Rida el Mahdi es Senussi, Sayed, 
10 

a festa in honour of author, 89 
et seq. 

author as guest of, 21 
author’s passport from, x, 90, 
101, 102 et passim 
effect of his letter, 93 et passim 
fanaticism of, 24 
favours from, 38, 34, 97 
receives author, 11 
Rohlfs, ill-fated expedition of, 
16 et seq., 91, 149, 150, 154, 
189 

Rohlfs’ “Kufra,” viii, 18 
Route history, 311 et seq. 

Saad, Sheikh, 183 
Sa-ad el Tebu, 220 
Safi ed Din, Sayed, 10, 12 
Sahara, the, Kufara the secret of, 
16, 20 

routes discussed at Jalo, 109 
sunset in, 127 
unforgivable sins in, 89 
Saleh Effendi, 232, 237, 245 
Saleh el Baskari, Sayed, banquets 
to author, 197 et seq. 
receives author, 194 
Saleh, Sidi, a snapshot of, 240 
hospitality of, 223 
the morabit of, 88 
Salt lake in the desert, 153 
Salt marshes, proximity of, to 
ruined Tebu villages, 222, 
228, 236 

Sand-grouse and camel: story of, 
260 

Sand-rash, torture of, 284 
Sandstorms, remarkable, 60, 116, 
263 

Sawani, 88 

Seif el-Biram, 167 

Senegal, Senussi influence in, 119 


Senussi confraternity, harsh rule* 
of the, 14 

notes on history of, 328 et seq. 
original letter from founder of, 
to people of Wajanga, 338- 

340 

story of the, 14, 323 et seq. 
Senussi, and Italians, a provi¬ 
sional treaty, 2 

belief in continued existence of 
the Mahdi, 167, 215 
difficulty of gaining informa¬ 
tion from, 106 
distrust of strangers, 107 
Emir of, 2 et seq. 
faith in spiritual and mentai 
power of the Sayeds, 291 
hatred of infidels, 15 
holy place of, 191 et seq. 
home of the, 1 
hospitality of, 299 
leader of, described, 3 
mentality of, 107 
power held by family of, S3 
towns, absence of cafes in, 219 
zawia at Gezira, 157 
Senussi, Sidi (son of Sidi el 
Abed), 239 

Shakri, 137, 151, 158, 159 
Sharruf, 99 

Sharuf Basha el Ghariam, 4 
Shaving extraordinary, 75, 292 
She-ib, across the desert with, 68 
et seq. 

his consideration for author, 71 
quotes an Arab proverb, 73 
She-ib, Musa, 68 et seq. 
a gift of fresh eggs, 90 
and a thermos flask, 79 
challenged by a sentinel, 98 
“Shepherd Kings,” the, 130 
Shetewi, Ramadan, 120 
Sir hen, 91 
Siwa, 92, 806 

wanderings through, 309 



INDEX 


355 


Slave iarms, 213 

trade, stringent French law 
against, 213 
Slavery in the East, 39 
Slaves, smuggled, 109 
Smoking prohibited by the Sen- 
ussi, 4, 14, 220, 308 
Snakes, fearsome, 235 
Soluk, 7, 63 

Squaireen, Sheikh Musa, ix, 176 
Stecker, surveyor to Rohlfs’ expe¬ 
dition, ix, 16 
Stockley, Cynthia, 58 
Sudan, the, Senussi influence in, 
119 

Sudanese, quixotic valour of, 166 
ruthlessness of, 83 
tiffs with the Beduins, 130, 135, 
151 

voracious appetite of, 51 
Sudani slaves of Zuruk, 211 
Suleiman Bu Matar, Sheikh, 206, 
207, 218 

as guide and host, 230, 231, 241 
on the Mahdi, 228 
Suleiman (the guide), 230, 241, 
244, 252 et seq., 260 et seq., 
271 et seq., 285 et seq. 
a remarkable feat of, 279 
loses a leather bag, 276, 277 
Surur, 225 

Tabawayein, the, houses of, 154 
Taiserbo, 15, 91 

a start for, 126 et seq. 

Madeni at, 158 
Moraja’s opinion of, 144 
reached by Rohlfs, 17 
Rohlfs and, 154, 156 
topography of, 157 
villages of, 157 
Taj, 16, 177 

a council at, 204 et seq. 
city’s formal farewell to author, 
240 


Taj, exploration of, 222 
first sight of, 191 
flight from, 222 et seq. 
fortress sanctuary of, and its 
builder, 228 
meaning of, 214 
qubba of Sidi el-Mahdi at, 1 91 
translation of Arab document of 
welcome given at, 336-337 
Talakh, a visit to, 214 
Tawati Half an, 208 
Tazerr, 211 

Tea-drinking, ceremony of, 71 
Tebu camels, thin coats of, 242 
houses, exploration of, l6l 
oasis, Hornemann on, 174 
ruined villages and houses, 15, 
154, 157, 210, 218, 223 
tombs, 154 

village, visit to a, 220 
Tebus, tribe of, 91, 151 
ousted from Kebabo, 15 
their old-time sultanate, 205 
Theft, punishment for, 227 
Thermos flask, a, in the desert, 78 
Tobruk, 120 
Tolab, 158, 192 
gardens of, 236 
why so named, 214 
Tolelib, 158, 192, 233, 236 
Treachery, punishment for, 227 
Tribal bands, savage, 91 
Tripolitania, 16 

Italians at bay in, 120 
Tuaregs, the, 20, 52, 104 
slave farms of, 213 
Tuggourt, 52, 219 
Tunisi, 157 

Uau, Szerir, 16 

Vita, General di, ix, 3 

Wadai, desert of, 14 

Mahdi institutes regular cara¬ 
van route to, 228 




356 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 


Wadai, Senussi influence in, 119 
Wadi Farig, 53, 55, 73, 81, 132, 
133 

Wajanga, 35, 220-221 

translation of original letter of 
Sidi Ben Ali to people of, 
338-340 

Washing-day in the desert, a, 121 
Wells, “miraculous” discovery of, 
by the Mahdi, 228 
Wilhelm I sends a scientific expe¬ 
dition to Libya, 16 
( cf . Rohlfs) 

Yadem Bu Gemira, Sidi, 295 
Yusuf el Hamri, acts as guide to 
Jaghabub, 297 et seq. 
an unfortunate remark by, and 
its sequel, 130 
and the Zouias, 264 
as cook, 284 

becomes an unexpected ally, 
173 

discerns a caravan, 96, 256 
entrusted with care of author, x, 
35 

his guiding star, 48, 55 et seq. 
his partiality for “asida,” 267, 
282 

his solicitude at Hassanein’s ac¬ 
cident, 302, 303 
in a cheerful mood, 275, 278 
in a reflective mood, 129 
introduced to author, 47 
longs for a wife or two, 254, 
255 

makes “asidas” in the sand for 
tired camels, 275 


Yusuf el Hamri, offers the iZouia 
olive branch, 184 
says his morning prayers, 273 
shaves Mohammed, 292 
stirs himself, 114 
wakes author for dinner at 
Jaghabub, 295-6 

Zaizeb, 304 

Zakar, a gruesome zariba at, 262 

Zakar-Jaghabub route, the, 254 

Zakar-Siwa route, the, 254 

Zakar well, the, 262-3 

Zarrug, ix, 182 

Zawias, how they retain hold of 
their pupils, 299 

Zeinab, the slave-girl, 117, 118, 
121, 130, 184, 193 

Zieghen, 15, 91 

Zieghen route, the, landmarks of, 
255 

Zouias, the, a characteristic of, 

251 

apologise to Hassanein, 184 
appearance of, 180 
Hawarian, 177 
of Buseima, 91, 143 
of the “cities” of Kufara, 203 
et seq. 

ousted from Kebabo, 15 
voluntary submission to Sid Ben 
Ali es Senussi, 150, 205, 207 
wealth of, 74 

Zuetina, 9 

Zuruk, 17, 158, 192 
a visit to, 211 
why so named, 214 












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PreservatiGnTechnologies 


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